Death Contract
by jojoDO
Summary: When Athena stands up to the syndicate threatening her... their retaliation is swift and merciless. Left broken, scarred, humiliated in her apartment one night, Athena goes beyond the law and seeks out the only man who can deliver the ultimate justice on her attackers... CO-OP WITH REX MADISON. WARNING: BRUTAL VIOLENCE
1. Chapter 1

**So, how do you get Rex Madison to write with you? You take his bae, the object of his infinite, undying love and adoration... and you put her in the shittiest position possible :D**

**This story stars not only Rex's waifu, but my favorite character Yamazaki (bombshell dropped). And I'll go ahead and warn you: this is easily the most brutal, menacing, violent story I have ever written. Maybe Rex's, too. This story is going to bring out your darkest, most sadistic emotions. It's a project so vile, I could only enlist the aid of the man who loves torturing his Psycho gal. We're gonna go back and forth just to mix it up evenly... but some scenes you can tell are either mine or Rex's personal touch ;P**

**Without further ado, enjoy. And uh... viewer discretion advised.**

"THANK YOU EVERYBODY, AND GOODNIGHT! I LOVE YOU AAAAAALLLLLLLL~!"

With that same tired, old, rehashed closing... Athena was finally granted freedom from the bright lights and sweat of the stage. She couldn't even make it out of sight before giving a huge, visible expelling of air from her lungs in a sigh of relief. She loved her job, she loved the people, she loved the money... but the R & R was a big reward in itself.

Yes, this was a picture-perfect, cozy little job for Athena Asamiya. She got to pursue her singing passion, light up on stage, adore billions of fans, then go and take the most pleasurable of breaks in her trailer when it was all said and done. An air conditioner, a cool drink... these things could never be taken for granted after enduring the rigorous trials of perfecting a live performance and winning hearts of men, women, and children alike.

As Athena let out a blissful sigh and unlocked her trailer door, she was already imagining the sweet sensation of her butt touching her comfy chair-

"We haven't heard from you, Asamiya."

In an instant, her body stiffened. She wouldn't be able to enjoy her chair after all; no... because there was a sinister-looking suit currently residing there.

All at once, she broke out in goosebumps upon seeing his face: those pitch-black shades, shooting icicles into her, that neatly-trimmed little red soul patch, the color of Satan himself, and, most chilling... that horrendous grin as he sucked ash and discarded his cigarette leavings on her shag carpet.

"How did you get in here?" Athena demanded. "I h-had the door l-"

"Don't try to distract me with formalities." the man rudely interrupted. "If we want to see you, Miss Asamiya, we WILL see you. It doesn't matter where you are, what you're doing... there's no safe zones from us."

"T-there was no _need_ to see me," Athena told him, swallowing her fear. "And there's n-nothing to discuss. You've already heard everything you're going to from me."

"Ah, but we _do_ need to see you," the man shot back, his grin becoming predatory. "We told you before that we'd give you some time, so you could come to your senses_. ...time's up._"

Now Athena just plain swallowed.

"Look, even if I wanted to sponsor you, I couldn't," she tried to reason. "These 'beauty products' of yours aren't just dangerous and addictive - they're _known_ for it. Your company's notorious for targeting and exploiting teenage girls. I am a _role model_ for teenage girls. How do you think that would look?"

"Pretty good, for us," he chuckled. "That's the whole point, isn't it? Reform our image by recruiting a trustworthy face and revamping our products. It's - "

"But you're _not_!" Athena cut in, starting to bristle. "You're not changing them at all! You're just redoing the labels and changing the names of the ingredients. They're still just as... _evil_!"

The man was initially silent. However, Athena knew... and FEARED... what was to come, when he slowly reached up, removed his sunglasses, leaned in close... and peered beyond her retinas, into her very depths.

"Look, Asamiya... you're going about this all wrong." he softly explained. "You're blinded by a delusional shroud of self-righteousness. At the end of the day... what does being "good" really accomplish? Nobody cares about your pure, virtuous spirit. They care how beautiful you are, how talented you are, how much money you make. You owe nothing to those fucking vultures."

Athena could feel her stomach welling up with a kind of... nervous pain. Almost like she needed a restroom... but it wasn't food, but a man's honeyed words that could put her in such distress.

He continued. "Tell me something... have you ever wondered what it's like to be set for life? Money always in your pocket, good food, luxuries at your disposal... protection?"

"P-protection...?"

He grinned. "Of course. You, your friends, your family... you'd never have to lock your doors again. You'd never have to look behind you when you're walking down the sidewalk. You roll with us, Miss Asamiya... and the world is yours on a platter."

"At what cost!" Athena furiously fired back, resisting his temptation. "My dignity? My identity? My... my soul?"

"At the end of the day, those are just superficial concepts!" the man brandished his cigarette as he raised his voice. "I'm talking about REAL things, TANGIBLE things! Security, for you and your kids! THEIR kids! I'm giving you the WORLD here, Miss Asamiya! All you have to do IS. SAY. YES!"

"NO!"

He scowled, leapt to his feet. "_You_ need to watch your tone, little girl! You don't seem to understand who you're dealing with here."

"No, _you _don't," she countered, fully set off now. "Those things aren't 'concepts' to me, they're my _lifeblood_. The tangibles mean _nothing_ without them. I don't want to buy luxuries with blood money. I don't want to trade my security for other peoples' lives. I don't want to raise my children in a world where they have to _deal with the devil_."

She expected anger. She was prepared for it, even; she was ready to fight. Instead his face became a mask of deadly calm, his lips curling into a smirk. It worked a whole lot better to disarm her (which he knew it would, of course).

"The devil, eh?" he said, and even his voice had changed. "You think we're the devil. ...well, I could waste time arguing with you and prove that we're not...but instead I'll ask you a question. If we're the devil, Miss Asamiya..._what can you do about us_?"

"A _lot_," she insisted, her voice steady...but her legs beginning to shake.

The man was taken aback by her courage, foolish though it was... but his face never changed from that frustratingly calm composure. He could still sense weakness in her. Even now, as she stood tall in his face... he could see her tremble. Her legs struggled to stay still. He still held the cards... and that meant he made the threats and demands.

"I'm going to warn you one last time, Miss Asamiya." his voice spoke those words slowly, menacingly... like a knife slowly dragging across skin.

"Then warn me." Athena defiantly fired back.

"Nobody says no to us and gets off clean. You're a part of this now, whether you like it or not. It's up to you to decide just what part you WANT to play. It's in your hands: you can be smart and reap the rewards... or be a foolish little bitch and have your career cut short. So many hearts broken, as their beloved idol makes the headlines of the obituaries..."

"Get the hell out of my trailer."

The door flew open, courtesy of a dazzling crimson light. The next thing to emerge from that trailer would be the body of the unpleasant visitor, being FORCEFULLY ejected into the grass outside.

It took a few moments to gather himself, but the man slowly emerged from his slumber in the dirt. As he rose like the dead, spitting grass and dirt particles... he slipped back on his sunglasses with a condemning, MARKING scowl.

"...You're going to pay dearly for that, Miss Asamiya. You just made the biggest mistake of your short life."

Those words fell short of Athena's ears; as far as the purple-haired girl was concerned, this was a victory... in every sense of the word. Dusting her hands off like she just took out the trash, she slammed her trailer shut, locked it, and finally had the reunion with her cozy chair she had waited for. Her face would only twist one last time: to brush aside the nasty cigarette carcass laying on her carpet.

"Ugh. Asshole."

* * *

Two weeks passed.

By that time Athena had mostly forgotten the incident, and in fact the company itself. She hadn't heard from them again, and she certainly hadn't called _them_ back. Their man had scared the hell out of her at first...but throwing him out of her trailer like garbage had taken out most of the sting. It reminded her that he, _they_, were only human; she was so much more. And it'd take some serious work on their part to put Athena Asamiya in the obituaries.

Unfortunately for her, her enemies were _very_ hard workers.

That night Athena was kicking back for a change, snuggled on her bed in her apartment wearing her fuzziest pajamas. She'd decided to look into Netflix, a service she'd had for years but hadn't done much with. (She had a lot on her plate already, after all.) Now that she was digging into it, it _fascinated_ her; so many new, gripping programs, so many old ones she'd once loved.

She had just queued up Astro Boy - _all_ of it - when a knock at the door startled her. Groaning, she slipped off the bed and padded across the apartment...then stopped and furrowed her brow. It was after ten o'clock; why would someone be visiting _now_? She thought over the possibilities, and soon her heart began to pound. _Could it be...?_

_...No_, she decided, shaking her head. She'd dealt with _them_ already; that was over now.

Still, she kept herself on guard until she looked through the peephole. To her relief, she found a pizza delivery boy, a laid-back looking dude with a baseball cap and a shaggy red beard. Sighing, she unlocked the door, ready to tell him he had the wrong address.

The instant she turned the knob, the door flew into her face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Rex here, lol. This chapter's all mine, as I'm sure you expected.**

**Hey, I don't **_**love**_** torturing my Psycho gal. I just don't shy away from it, that's all. ;) ...I'll admit, though, this here is not my finest hour. Normally when I put Athena (or anybody!) through hell, I try to give it a hook. A **_**gimmick**_**. Something to remember it by. But I couldn't do that for this one; this is just pure, unfiltered savagery, **_**definitely**_** the most brutal thing I've ever written. If you remember it for anything, it'll be for that.**

**But honestly...for this story? I don't think it could've gone any other way.**

The door hit with enough force to throw her backward, sending her to the floor with a cry. At the same time, the pizza boy stepped back to let in four larger, stronger men, including the one who'd just kicked in the door. These all wore business suits, she noted dimly as they rushed her, one man grabbing her legs while the others took her arms and waist. As they lifted her from the floor, she struggled and thrashed uselessly...but it was more out of anger than fear.

_...are they freaking kidding me__⁇_She was _Athena Asamiya_, damnit! She didn't need to move a muscle to turn these men to mush! Collecting herself with a growl, she closed her eyes and summoned up her deepest, darkest energies. Her aura began to flare, and the men started to shout...

...and then the "pizza boy" came up and bent her index finger backwards.

Her eyes flew open as she let out a blood-curdling scream, drowning out the sharp crack of her joint snapping in two. Her aura cut off immediately, her focus totally destroyed; her scream cut off nearly as fast, the man at her waist tying a gag around her mouth. Now she struggled in earnest, twisting and writhing - but she got just as few results. Then the _next_ finger in line got the treatment, the loud pop overpowering her now-muffled cries.

"Looks like the intel was true," said the "boy"...and she recognized that voice. "Pain and your powers don't mix."

Her blood ran cold; her heart leapt into her throat. She looked up at the man, who had shrugged off a pitiful disguise. He'd thrown out his baseball cap, put on some shades...and removed his beard, revealing all of it to be fake but a neatly-trimmed soul patch. _It's HIM...!_

"Sorry to interrupt your pajama party," he snickered, cruelly tapping her fingers in time with Astro Boy's theme song. "But I told you you'd made a mistake, Asamiya. In fact, you made two: giving us the wrong answer and _really pissing me off_."

Then the men holding her limbs dropped them, letting the fourth one haul her into the living room. Once he got there, two of them came back to her arms, stretching them out and securing them firmly. Then the waist man stepped away from her, letting her hang between the other two as if on a cross. And all the while, their leader kept breaking her fingers, keeping her from striking back.

"You're pretty lucky, actually," he told her as he ruined her thumb, smirking a bit when her screams turned into sobs. "The bosses would prefer you alive, so we don't plan to kill you today. But you _do_ represent an amazing opportunity for us. You see...you have healing powers."

Her head snapped up, her eyes wide. _Healing powers! I DO have healing powers‼ _They were the _only_ powers she could use, in fact, while she was in this kind of pain. Frantically she called on them, restoring her mangled digits...but the leader kept her thumb bent back, keeping it from healing and wiggling it to keep her hurting.

"Normally on _persuasion_ missions, my men and I have to hold back," he went on. "But _you_ have healing powers, and it's no big deal if you croak. So now we can _really_ cut loose, for as long as you and your powers hold out. ...if you let yourself die just to spite us, that's fine too...but if you wanna live, you'd better get ready."

With that he stepped back as the first man stepped up, sporting a pair of brass knuckles. It gave her the tiniest of windows to fight - but all thoughts of fighting had fled from her mind. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she shook her head back and forth, _pleading_ into her assailant's eyes with her own. But all she saw in _his_ eyes was a cold determination...and an even colder sadism.

He reared back, let his knuckled fist fly - and shattered Athena's sternum.

Her cry this time was hollow, strangled and gurgling. A number of bone chips had punctured her lungs, making it much easier for her to bleed than to breathe. She used her powers again desperately, healing the lungs with a few chips still buried inside them. No sooner had she managed to swallow the blood than the _next_ blow came, bursting her spleen wide open.

And so it went, blow after blow after blow, for the longest hour of Athena's life. She howled, she wailed, she _roared_ as bones were broken, organs were ruptured, muscles and ligaments were torn. They kept her in constant agony, locking away her psychic powers; nearly half the wounds were fatal, draining away her healing powers. Eventually she had to let the lighter ones slide, saving her strength for when she needed it just to survive.

Once the first man got tired, the second came up with a crowbar. The next two got more creative, one taking the hammer from her closet and the other using her lamp as a bat. By the time the leader pulled out the knife, she wasn't even moaning anymore...but the devilish man knew his work, strategically carving her up to force out her loudest cries yet.

Finally, Athena's healing powers failed her. He could tell when, after the latest cut, she didn't even try to stop the bleeding. Smirking, he did it for her by cauterizing the wound with his lighter, producing a whole new round of screams. Finally they threw her limp body to the floor...but they weren't finished just yet.

"Well congratulations. You made it," the leader sneered. "Thanks for that, Asamiya. My men got to get out some aggression, and _I _got to see where they need work. I noticed not _one_ of them went for the pelvis; that's a mistake we won't make again." She didn't even open her eyes at the threat.

"But I know that, eventually, your powers'll come back. Might be a few minutes after we leave, even. Soon enough, you're gonna heal all that damage and try to forget it ever happened. ...well, we can't have that."

_Now_ her eyes opened.

"In the _yakuza_, when somebody screws up bad enough, they take one of his fingers. Well, we may not be the _yakuza_...but we do honor some of their customs. And like we told you before, you're a _part_ of us now...and you have _definitely_ screwed up."

He knelt down next to her, pulled out his knife again. She tried to squirm away, but she was weak as a kitten by now. In a flash, he'd grabbed hold of her hand, stretched out her pinky, and sliced into it. ...of course, that wasn't enough to get past the bone, so he began to move back and forth, _sawing_ the thing off instead.

_No...NO...nononono... _It wasn't the _pain_ that was getting her, despite it being the worst yet. It was the sensation...the [feeling] of a piece of her body being slowly torn away. She had to stop this, she [had] to, she had to somehow use her powers... _Focus, FOCUS, focus focus FOCUS __**FOCUS - ‼**_

...and then it was gone, and her spirit carried with it.

Once the deed was done, the man cauterized that wound as well. Then he wrapped up the offering in a small white cloth, putting it in his pocket. "We'll give it to the bosses for you," he assured her, not that she noticed. "Of course, you may be able to grow _that_ back too, who knows. I guess we'll see next time we see you...which'll be soon, by the way. Hopefully you'll have a better answer for us then.

"All right, guys, we're done here," he finished, standing and motioning with his hand. "We'll be in touch, Miss Asamiya. Until then...enjoy your cartoon."

With that they finally turned, leaving her to her blood, her tears, and her beloved Astro Boy.


	3. Chapter 3

Minutes and minutes passed by that she lay there, completely still, less life in her than a corpse. Her eyes could only look forward, level with the dark abyss underneath her furniture. The tears continued to leak... warm trickles, tickling her skin before forming a damp sensation underneath her as it soaked the carpet. It was so uncomfortable, laying in one's own tears... but she had no choice. Her body no longer had the will to even budge from this spot.

Minutes became an hour: a whole hour, in which she failed to move even the slightest of a muscle. Her tv continued to drone on with the fantasy noises, explosions, upbeat dialogue of Astro Boy... it all sounded disgusting to her. It was all corrupted; she wanted to just turn off that tv, turn off any reminder of the comfort, the innocence this day carried for her just a while ago before experiencing the greatest trauma of her life. She didn't deserve anything but silence; silence, and to wallow in her own blood and tears.

How? How could this have happened? She's just a girl... just a little girl...!

The tears started pooling at a faster rate... until at last they overflowed from her eyelids in one large burst. She sobbed, whimpered: the most pathetic, drawn-out, squeaky whimpers a violated girl could ever produce. This... this wasn't fair. She never hurt anybody. She never did anything malicious, anything even in the vicinity of hostile. Her whole life, she always did what was right...

...What was right? Was right doing the morally good thing? Was right just going along with them, having an easy life, never having to worry about anything again? She didn't know anymore. She didn't care. All that mattered was... she was broken. She was done forever: a scarred, discarded pile of refuse with no future. Nobody would ever call her beautiful again. No little girls would ever adore her, look up to her... no... all they would ask is "mommy, where did her finger go?"

Her wails grew louder as that memory came flooding back. She tried to flex the muscle where it once resided; when she felt nothing, she screamed her lungs out on the living room carpet. It all came flooding back: the knife cutting into her like butter, sliding back and forth endlessly... her pleas falling on deaf ears as a precious part of her was taken for all eternity.

This... this wasn't fair. They don't deserve to get away with this. But what could she do... she was just a naive little g-

NO. She was Athena Asamiya. She had money, adoring fans... thousands and thousands of connections all around the world. The syndicate thinks they have power? They don't know what power is. Athena Asamiya wasn't weak, wasn't helpless... she could be as ruthless as any of them if they dared cross her.

She could feel it crumbling: her once-unshakable wall of righteousness. They brought this out in her! THEM!

She knew exactly who to call. Dragging her wounded, battered body towards her bedroom, she willed her way to the phone book in her lamp desk and ripped it open. Hundreds of sticky notes were plastered through the pages, all with various numbers bestowed to her at one point or another. She was looking for just ONE: a number she never in her life thought she would ever have to use. She even laughed it off as a silly joke when she had initially committed it to memory.

...But this was no joke now. This was the real world. In the real world, bad deeds go unpunished every day. Good people suffer, while the dishonest cheaters prosper. But it didn't have to be this way: not when someone has the adequate resources at her disposal.

"There it is..."

Athena stopped for only a second to question whether this was the right thing to do or not... before quickly deciding SHE DIDN'T CARE. She grabbed her cell phone, whipped it open, activated the number pad, dialed in those ten digits. With the push of those buttons... Athena Asamiya cast aside whatever modicum of innocence, compassion, mercy she had left in her marred, skewed heart.

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes... and awaited the voice on the other side:

"...Where did you find this number?"

Not surprised in the least to hear that initial question, Athena had a swift, favorable response:

"Nowhere."

"Good answer. Who do I have the pleasure of talkin' to?"

"Nobody."

"...Good answer. What's the job?"

Athena opened her eyes... and they flared with an almost sociopathic gleam.

"Revenge. No... PUNISHMENT."

* * *

The next evening found Athena sitting in a cab, heading towards the sleaziest dive bar she'd ever been to (not that she'd been to many). She had completely avoided detection, thanks to the most elaborate disguise she'd ever worn. Long brown coat. Long-sleeved plaid shirt. Khakis with suspenders. Leather gloves and boots. Makeup. Sunglasses. Gray wig. Gray MUSTACHE. It had taken a fortune to order, all day to receive and put on - but it was worth it. She was taking no chances, making absolutely certain no one ever knew she was here. Even on a good day, a place like this would hurt her image...but tonight it could prove disastrous.

Finally they arrived. She paid the man, started to exit the cab...and GROANED. A burst of pain had stopped her, courtesy of a few nagging fractures in her hip. She hadn't yet been able to heal it completely; it had simply been shattered too many times. Meanwhile other wounds had healed wrong (like the misaligned toe) or simply wouldn't heal at all (like the bone chips in her lungs). She'd have to see a doctor about those soon...along with a dentist, to get implants for the teeth she couldn't find.

But they could wait. ALL of it could wait. Until she had finished this meeting.

So she powered through, struggling out of the cab and slowly walking into the bar. She got a few stray glances from the patrons, their thoughts ranging from "nice suspenders, geek" to "there is NO WAY that's a guy". But a few men managed to ignore her...including a large, dark-clad blond in the corner, busily sharpening a knife.

She walked - well, hobbled - towards him, knowing this was the guy. When she reached him, he looked up calmly, as if he'd seen her through a sixth sense. The look in his eyes and the grin on his face, though, were anything but calm.

"Hey, old dude," he greeted cheerfully, picking up his briefcase. "You in the market for some blades?"

"Not those blades," she told him, her voice raspy and low.

"Yeah? Well which ones, then?"

"Yours."

"...good answer." He put away the case and extended his hand. "A. A., I presume...?"

"MOST of her," she muttered, shaking it before taking a slow seat at the table.

The man leaned in close... and was initially silent, opting instead to fixate his eyes on her appearance, every detail... down to the fake hairs of her mustache. After deciding that he had adequately scanned her, he spoke.

"You know who I am. You know what I do. If you're coming to me... you're seeking something that normal, decent people don't have the stomach for. You want something that the law can't give you, that juries and trials and bullshit legal procedures won't satisfy."

Athena nodded. "Ryuji Yamazaki... I want to thank you."

That produced a cocked eyebrow. "Thank me?"

Athena leaned in close, her hands resting below her chin, as her eyes focused on his intensely.

"What you do is a thankless job. You live your life in the shadows, never knowing the joy of friendship, the comfort of being accepted by society... when the reality is, you are a vital asset to it. Because you, Ryuji... you can do what others can't. You're willing to stain your hands with blood, so the "good people" can be clean. You take on the sins, the darkest, most forbidden burdens... so the rest of us can live our lives free."

Yamazaki put a hand to his chest melodramatically. "Well, Miss A... it warms my heart to see someone truly understand me. This relationship is getting off to a beautiful start. Now... where can we go from here and make things even better?"

"I can tell you about the job," Athena reasoned. "You're right, I DO know what you do. I know it's things people like me don't have the stomach for. ...and I want you to do it ALL."

"Oooh," Ryuji oozed, his eyes gleaming. "Care to elaborate, or - "

"Absolutely," said Athena coldly. "I want them to SUFFER, Ryuji. I want the bastards that broke me to know how it feels to be broken. I want bones snapped...organs burst...muscles ripped and torn. I want them to have to WILL themselves to stay alive, just so they can suffer more pain."

"Music to my ears," her companion crowed, his grin getting dangerously wide.

"...not to mine," his client growled, having to concentrate to keep her aura from flaring. "Leave them in PIECES, understand? Take things AWAY from them while you hurt them. You can do what you like after that...but the leader? The red-headed one? ...I want his HEAD."

His eyebrows raised.

"I want to SEE that he's dead. I want to see what HE looks like, screaming in pain. And I want to see what I can do to him, now that he's broken me. ...I want to see just how much I can stomach."

Yamazaki stayed silent for a second, slowly shaking his head. "My, my, Miss A. Awfully specific, DELICIOUS instructions. And you used to be such a nice, sweet little girl. What could they have possibly done to you...?"

In response, Athena took off her glove and slammed her hand down on the table, revealing her missing pinky.

"What... the... FUCK..."

He didn't bother making his voice discreet, regardless of the ears around. At that moment... Athena figured out that Yamazaki's cheerful facade could be broken. The blonde man's eyes were unable to tear away from it: that grotesque nub, crusted with the dark brown of congealed blood, the flesh dark and discolored where it had been crudely cauterized.

What was it that made him so shocked? Surely Yamazaki had seen and DONE much worse things in his line of work. Perhaps, even to an unstable psychopath like him, who usually relished the sight of such things... he couldn't understand why someone would want to do this to a girl like her. A girl... like HER.

"...Some people were born in this world bratty. They always want to get their way." Athena continued. "And some people are raised, bred to have that kind of thinking. Some people are sworn into it, forced to adapt to a new set of rules... until they become something beyond the capabilities of decent humans. The guys who did this to me... were VERY bratty."

Yamazaki put a hand to his chin and gently stroked it. "I gotta know. I'm too curious now. Who could do this to a girl like-"

"A girl like me? A sweet, kind, innocent, soft, weak, gullible moron?" Athena interrupted. "I'll tell you who: a bunch of blackhearted men who saw that weakness... and jumped on it. I tried to fight them... ohh I tried to fight them. I tried to stand up for myself... and they did THIS to me. I was just a girl who liked to sing, dance, adore millions onstage. And now... it feels like knives in my lungs when I breathe. I hobble when I walk. I'm missing a piece of me that I can't fucking get back."

Yamazaki's grin was long gone at this point: replaced by a more dangerous expression... one people usually knew to run from.

"Miss A... I think I'm going to enjoy this job. Who's the target?"

"Ever heard of the Syndicate? ...the ones behind THIS poison?"

Athena pulled a small bottle of beauty cream out of her coat. Ryuji took it from her, looked it over; then his eyes narrowed. "...ohh yeah. THAT Syndicate. Like to pretend they're above board. ...bigger bunch of scumbags you couldn't find."

"That's the one. They've been hounding me to sponsor that garbage for a month. They keep sending goons out to talk to me...usually the one that did this." She pointed at her nub. "He's good at getting past my security - but at first, he wasn't trying. Cameras caught him at two different venues before he started sneaking around."

Now she pulled a tiny flash drive out of her coat. Ryuji raised his eyebrows as he took it. "You're giving me your surveillance footage...?"

"Worth it," Athena assured him. "Last night, he came to my apartment with four MORE goons, none of which I'd seen before. I don't have cameras at home, and I can't really describe them. Hard to remember things when people are bludgeoning you to death. But my apartment complex has cameras too, and chances are ONE of them caught them. ...I can't get you that footage myself, but I'm sure you can find a way."

"Name? Address?"

She gave them to him (though not her unit number). "...just try not to hurt the landlord, okay? Or the doorman. They're both very nice to me."

"How about the head of security?"

"Oh, HE'S a jerk," said Athena, with a hint of a smile.

"I can work with that," said Ryuji with a smirk. "Anything else...?"

Athena nodded. "Do you have a pen?"

Yamazaki reached into his pocket, producing the writing utensil in question, which Athena accepted with a gracious bow. As she reached over to grab a napkin, she continued:

"I'm going to write two things on this napkin. One... is my phone number. The second thing... is up to you. I want you to tell me what this is worth."

Ryuji gave a more sly smile as he propped his chin up with his elbow and hand. "Well, Miss A, I would love to be a cliche and passionately declare I'll do this for free... but the world doesn't work that way of course. A man's gotta eat."

Athena rolled her eyes with a smirk. "You still failed to not be cliche. Now tell me."

Yamazaki's smile finally faded, indicating this would be a serious answer. "Tell you what I WILL do... I'll take this one for half my usual rate. It's what... five guys? Okay then, I have a number for you... and I won't take any more or less."

Athena nodded. "Money's no object, Mr. Yamazaki."

The blonde man grinned. "NOW who's being a cliche?"

She chuckled a bit, shook her head. He gave her the number; she wrote it down calmly, keeping the surprise off her face. (Apparently hitmen made some serious bank. Luckily, so did she.) Compelled to sign the "contract" but not stupid, she simply wrote down and circled an A, hoping it wouldn't incriminate her too much. He didn't seem to think so, simply nodding and putting the napkin in a pocket of his own.

"We have a deal, then?" said Athena, extending her good hand.

"Deal," said Ryuji, shaking it. "Can't give a timeframe yet, but I'm guessing under a week."

"That'll be fine," she agreed with a nod. "Just remember...get the head. There's a bonus in it for you."

"No need," he told her, shaking his head. "It's been a pleasure doing business, Miss A..."

His gaze drifted back to her mutilated hand.

"...but I'll make sure to make it personal, too."

"Thank you," said Athena quietly, replacing her glove.

* * *

That night, Athena took the longest shower of her life. As the piping hot water cascaded over her, there were several underlying meanings in her simple human pastime. Far too complicated than a shower should be...

First the obvious; she was in fucking pain. The hot water acted as a soothing balm, dampening the lingering wounds from last night. Her chest felt less prickly, her hip felt less wobbly, her shoulder felt safer in its socket. The only thing better would've been a nice bubble bath...but that was too much trouble right now.

Then there was the far too symbolic cleansing it gave her. She felt absolutely disgusting, even though she'd already showered this morning. Everywhere the men had touched felt POISONED, like infected patches of skin she wanted to rip off and regrow. ...but that'd be WAY too much trouble. She'd simply have to rely on showers, day after day after day, until one of them somehow made her clean.

And then there was the tainting of something far more vital: her soul. If she stood under here long enough, could it wash away the malice? The hate? She didn't used to be like this. She'd just hired an ASSASSIN, for god's sake. Those men, cruel and merciless, forced her to become something awful to get by. They'd taken her innocence, her youth, her spirit. This is who she was now... forever.

...then again...they'd taken her finger forever, too.

Athena looked down at her naked body, tears welling up again at the sight. It wasn't just the missing finger; not all the lingering wounds were internal. Her body still sported several long, jagged red welts, courtesy of cuts she'd had to "let slide" so long they'd started to scar before she healed them. The darkest was right in the middle of her stomach, from when the red-haired man had tried to flat-out disembowel her.

She couldn't heal them any further now, and they scared her to death. Would they fade on their own someday, or stick with her for life? God, what man would ever want her THEN? How could she enjoy the pleasures of the beach, of summer clothing? Of looking in the goddamn mirror!?

...and then a switch went off in Athena's heart. Her tears dried up immediately; her trembling lips flattened to a line. Sure, she'd hired an assassin. Sure it was an overreaction to a beating. But she'd been violated on a much deeper level than simple physical harm. Her very BEING had been tainted, corrupted by man's insatiable greed. It wasn't a beating...it was a murder. The Death of Athena Asamiya.

And the deaths of a thousand men like them couldn't begin to make up for it.


	4. Chapter 4

**We're back folks. Having rid myself of a tremendous literary burden, I am now free to pursue other projects, such as this sadistic little number I cooked up with Rex last month or so. So pull up a chair, grab a root beer, and harness the most evil, sinful emotions stored in the uncharted roots of your heart. This is not going to be pleasant.**

**Oh, and please check out Rex Madison's poll. It's very, very, very important. I mean it. Go to Rex Madison's poll right now. Do it, and come back to this story. It can wait. It's not going anywhere. Go check out Rex Madison's poll. NOW! Rex Madison approved this message.**

She knew she wouldn't sleep that night. But it was even worse than she thought; she had to stop her hands from reaching up to claw out her eyeballs, just to be granted the mercy of darkness. She was so tired... so tired... but her brain forbid her from shutting her eyes. Forbid her from escaping. Forbid her from looking away from what was happening.

Was he killing them right now? Maybe their blood was already trickling across his fingers, painting them with warmth. She could feel it, too - the sensation of warm, thick life essence on her hands, growing colder with each passing second. She could feel it all the way up to her wrists...as if she were doing the deed herself.

Ryuji Yamazaki was a man who dirtied his hands, so that others wouldn't have to live with it. But there are deeper shades to people, more complicated than who's swinging the knife and who's not. He could eliminate a LOT of things... but some things can't be banished with bare hands.

Some people can be content with just not pulling the trigger. Athena Asamiya could not. People were dying tonight... and she gave the decree to make it so. They would cease to exist, by her word. She would carry this, no matter how thoroughly Ryuji could deprive them of a physical being.

* * *

His movements went unnoticed, unacknowledged, as if he were a specter... or his humble black attire in such a sophisticated establishment simply caused him to carry about as he pleased without fear of attracting attention. In a restaurant of suits and snobs, he was less than a peasant... and that suited his work just fine.

Having successfully fell in with the crowd currently being escorted to their seats, he silently broke off from the party and casually strolled through the interior, hands in his pockets, his eyes focused only forward. It was easy for one to dart idly with their glances, mesmerized, perhaps intimidated by the bustle of wallet-waving CEOs and vice presidents, who would return in part with scornful, condescending looks of their own... but he paid no mind to them. They weren't even there, as far as he was concerned: a symbiotic invisible bond, as they ignored him and he ignored them. He allowed them to remain blissfully blind in the heavy air of their aristocratic realm of food and drink... so he could do his job without concerned faces paying mind.

Yamazaki reached his target: a humble wooden tray, containing five exotic red wines... and one draft beer. His hand smoothly slid out of its pocket, with no wasted moves. A mere flick of his thumb, like flipping a coin... and two tiny white pellets plopped into the light brown liquid and dissolved in seconds.

His facial expression unchanging, Ryuji immediately bypassed the entirety of the restaurant and slipped into the bathroom, plowing directly through the door without even using his pocketed hands. He walked right through, the door swung behind him... and Ryuji Yamazaki was never even there.

He took a look around, observing the settings. As far as bathrooms went, this one was pretty standard: white tiled walls, white concrete floor, blue stall doors, totaling five... along with four urinals lined up along the wall.

He slowly paced across the row of stall doors, his ear leaning close, to sense any signs of company within the constricted quarters. When he heard silence... he immediately proceeded to the right-most door: the one closest to the exit. He took a look at the stall door: so clean, as if washed and scrubbed every single night. Not a single phone number, dirty message, crude drawing, or string of curse words.

With a maniacal smile, Ryuji drew his knife from his pocket, raised his other hand... and dragged the blade inch-deep through the soft flesh of his palm. His irises quivered in his eyeballs as his body couldn't contain its shudder of arousal. His lips curved wider, wider... his teeth nearly tearing through his strained gums. This was going to be some of his best work yet.

* * *

"WHERE'S MY BEER! THE LADIES ARE GETTIN' RESTLESS!"

That obnoxious, braying tone was owned by Gianni Savino, an Italian son raised by an American family, who now worked for an international company specializing in selling very shitty beauty products. He stole the show that night, donning a pair of signature brass knuckles which he used to relentlessly pound Athena's insides for hours on end, to the extent that her healing powers saved her from coughing up a fine paste of ruptured organs and shattered bone shards. The one thing that stood out most was... how thrilled he was to be doing this to her. A little girl, not even a quarter of his size... he must have loved imposing his dominance on such a smaller figure; perhaps he got off on the feeling of imagining her tiny fists pounding against him, vainly attempting to fight back... of course, Athena never even had the chance to try it last night. It was merciless, endless abuse... and he had kicked it off with a horrific start.

"You sound in rare form tonight, baby." one of his female mates cooed. "Have a little fun recently~?"

Gianni chuckled as he leaned back in his chair, kicking his feet up. "Let me ask you a question... who are the truly innocent ones in this world? Now, think carefully before you answer."

His naive, oblivious woman giggled. "Uhhh... women and children?"

Gianni flashed a nasty grin. "Do you truly believe that?"

Another woman leaned in, humoring his strange philosophy. "You're just trying to justify your love for hitting women, aren't you? I know you too well, you sadist."

The third lady chimed in. "You're lucky we're the only women who will ever put up with you, heehehehehe~"

"Ah, shut your yaps." Gianni dismissed. "You're not going to take this away from me. And I'll tell you why... the truth is, a woman, a girl, even a CHILD, can be just as ruthless as a man. So why should they be granted anymore mercy than the next person?"

"Little girls can't be bad, you dummy." a fourth girl giggled.

"I disagree!" Gianni burst forward, pointing his finger in her face. "Here's something to think about: what kills people? Guns, right? No... people kill people. And tell me, who can pick up a gun? Who can pull a trigger? Hell, for that matter, who can stab somebody with a knife? Who can bludgeon someone with a wrench? Anyone can do it! ANYONE! Men, women, children-"

"Babies?"

Gianni shook his head. "No, not babies, you idiot. But a girl... a girl can do the same damage as a grown man. A girl can ruin your life. A girl can destroy a family. That's why I don't mind what I do... ESPECIALLY when it involves girls. It's time that we shatter this narrow, biased notion that all little girls are innocent, because I got news for you... the only thing innocent in this world are animals. That's it."

"Animals and babies~"

"Alright, fine, babies too."

In the middle of Gianni's ranting of his insane ideologies... the waitress at last presented the wooden tray to them, complete with five exotic red wines... and one draft beer for a special someone.

"Your drinks."

"Bout fucking time." Gianni smiled as he grabbed his beer and pressed it to his lips, taking several hearty swigs.

And then... it hit him. All at once: a massive exertion of pressure, a mass migration from his upper stomach to his lower intestines, with the force of a falling anchor. It was enough to render his upper torso to a right angle, his chin all but slamming against the wooden table with the force in which he hunched over.

"Augh... aghhhhh... dammit... ughhhhh..."

"What's wrong?!"

"My fucking stomach... aggggghhhh EXCUSE ME!"

Leaving his five female companions perplexed, Gianni abandoned the table with newfound speed and sprinted into the bathroom, one hand on his stomach, one hand furiously cupping his mouth in case anything tried to come up.

A raging storm brewing in his stomach, Gianni's first instinct was to locate the closest stall possible, barge in, and empty his guts. It was standard procedure... just one of those little human scenarios that were executed with little use of the brain.

...But something stopped him. A sight so abnormal, so chilling, it actually made the labored man stand upright. His arms fell from their resting positions, his head slowly tilting upwards on shocked instinct... and his lips couldn't resist the urge to mouth an expletive of disbelief.

"What... the... F...U...C...K..."

Painted across the stall door, standing out as powerfully as red could on blue... he could smell the distinct odor of copper wafting towards him full force, permeating his nostrils with a nauseating odor:

_**OUT OF ORDER**_

He could only stare at it, incapable of doing anything else. His sickness had been all but forgotten, as if his mind had cast aside his urgency and replaced it with the need to stand perfectly still... and question the insanity that lie before him. Why? Why would someone do this? Who could be insane enough to-

At that moment, he would get his answer, when a hand forcefully grabbed a tuft of hair, drew his head back, let it fly forward... and his face felt the wetness of it, still fresh, painting his face red as his brain was sent a massive jolt of blunt force trauma.

A trained professional in his own right, as he fell to the ground his first instinct was to reach for his gun. His hand only made it to the rim of his pants, in an attempt to untuck his shirt and reveal the piece underneath... until a foot swiftly came forward and shut it down.

"AUGH!" he yelped out in pain as he felt his own fingers smash against his waist. With nowhere for his fingers to go, a sharp cracking noise resonated in the tight quarters as the digits were dislocated in their sockets.

The next blow came without restraint; hands still in his pockets, Yamazaki got a lunging start and soccer kicked him in the mouth, splitting his lip wide open with the toe of his shoe and sending teeth flying from the destructive impact point blank in the center.

Gianni was reduced to a gurgling mess on his back, his head laid against the cold tile, sputtering and spitting out any teeth he could, coughing as his own blood and the rest of those loose pearly whites fell down his windpipe and got stuck there, putting his lungs in overtime as they forcefully attempted to expel the foreign substances. He lifted his mangled hand high, attempting to alleviate the pain with altitude... he couldn't even stop it from shaking, his fingers bent out of shape, pointing in all four directions at once.

_"...eah you were such hot shit that night weren't ya? Hehehehehehe! Yeah I bet you put on quite a show. Wait till you get a load of me..."_

His head was still ringing from the two sharp impacts, but he could make out the muffled voice of a stranger, somehow recalling the events of what he did just a few nights ago. His mind, in a panic, didn't have time to contemplate these things... right NOW, it was just about survival. But he... he couldn't do anything. He was always so strong... yes... those women never stood a chance against him. He was always the biggest, the strongest... but now, here he was, helpless... how was he going to survive this? He had to... he had no choice...

"H...huuhhhkkk... whoo arrrghkkk youu..." his raspy voice choked out.

"I'm here to file a complaint. A customer didn't appreciate your little delivery a few nights ago... so I'm here to get something back. And believe me, buddy... it's not money."

"N-no... no wait...!"

His plea would go ignored, as Ryuji snatched him by the hair once more and dragged him into the stall, the same one with the now-smeared message still inscribed on the front, with the words still discernible, only making it that more ominous. Even if somebody walked in right now and saw them... they'd probably be out two seconds later, with their eyes shut and fingers in their ears.

"Give me your leg."

"Nuuuhh... noo... pluhhh... pleez...!"

"LEG! NOW!"

"NOOOO!"

Despite a man of Gianni's stature, Ryuji seemed to handle him with the greatest ease: perhaps a byproduct of the fear, panic, and successful ambush. He tried to fight back, but a few well-placed slams of his head against the wall softened him up, allowing Ryuji the opening he needed to seize a leg, and drape it across the toilet seat... his kneecap dead center over the opening, where there was nothing underneath as a backstop.

"If you scream, it's only going to make it worse." Yamazaki's voice was now shrewd and serious. "In fact... here. This is for you."

He squeezed Gianni's jaw, making his mouth open like a candy dispenser. Despite his violently shaking head and pleading wails, Yamazaki stuffed the rag in his mouth, nearly to the back of his throat.

"There we go. Now... I suggest you bite down for this."

"MMPH! MMPH!"

"1..."

"MMMMMMMPH!"

"2..."

"MMMMMMMMMMMPH!"

"And a'three."

**CRUNCH!**

Gianni screamed so hard, his eye vessels popped as his leg went at an obtuse angle, courtesy of the full weight of Ryuji's foot crashing directly on that kneecap, destroying his fibula and tibia with the ease of snapping a pencil. His body wriggled and flailed as tears spilled from his eyes, the only form of pain relief offered to him constant bodily movement. But in such tight space, with Ryuji constricting him... even THAT wasn't much of a consolation.

"Now give me the other- hey! No whining now. I mean it! Just be a big boy and get it over with. Give me your other leg."

Gianni was full on sobbing, wailing at this point, making no effort to hide his desperation to have that rag removed so he could blubber and beg for his life. But even if he had a tongue of forged silver... those words would mean nothing to Ryuji.

"There go! Now... 1... ah hell, I'll make it quick."

**CRUNCH!**

Gianni's second leg was subject to the same fate of being a flimsy slab of loose meat, no longer a solid bone to support it. He was now effectively crippled, his only avenue of escape now to crawl with his ample arm strength... provided Ryuji ever gave him the chance. Obviously that would never happen.

Of course, that didn't stop him from trying. As his body flopped to the ground, he did managed to outstretch his arms long enough to almost touch the bottom of the door, before Ryuji snatched him back up.

"Get back heeeeeere, ya little scamp."

The next thing Gianni would see is the inside of the toilet bowl: a large, white, spherical range, one little hole in the middle, with the slightly quivering clear water raised a decent length inside. Just looking at it long enough made him... want to...

"Eh?"

Yamazaki saw his body start wriggling, convulsing. He turned him around; his eyes were nearly rolled backwards, his skin starting to lose it's color. And THEN it hit him.

"Oh, I nearly forgot."

Yamazaki bent his head back over the toilet and removed the rag... and out it came spilling.

"BLEEEEUGHHH! GLUUUUUGHHHHHH! GHUUUUUUUGHLLLLL!"

Mouthful after mouthful of his stomach contents hit the water, blood and teeth and stomach juices, his breakfast, his lunch, whatever that beer was he was indulging in for a few precious seconds. In seconds, the toilet had nearly filled with the discolored sludge of his agitated innards.

"Ooooog! That is RIPE." Ryuji had to turn his head for a second just to be spared from the smell.

"Puh... pluuuhh... pleea...zeeee..." he begged, his lips dripping with long strings of saliva mixed with blood and bile, unable to break even as he constantly spit.

"Damn, man!" Ryuji's voice full of disgust. "Now we're gonna have to speed things along. Fine, if you have any of those tired old pleas you'd like to make, I'll hear em'. Go on. You have the stage. Uh, I mean floor. Sorry."

"I... I'll puuh... paah... you...'

"I'm already being paid."

"Double... triple..."

"Where would I put it all? My mattress? Hehehehehe!"

"I'll puh.. p-COUGH COUGH COUGH COUGH COUGGGHK! P-put in a word with... my boss... you'll always be... under our p...protec..."

"Hey, now that is just insulting. You think I can't take care of myself? You callin' me WEAK?'

"N-NO! NOOO!"

Yamazaki couldn't help but giggle at that. "Ahahahaha. Did you see how scared you just got? You thought I was gonna do something. HA! Ah, but make no mistake, YOU ARE FUCKED. You wanna know why?"

"Pleeeease...!"

"Please? Well okay then, I WILL tell you. You're a piece of filth, dude. I mean, I knew you guys were scumbags even before what you did to that poor popstar, but THAT... good GOD, man. What kind of sick bastard does that to an innocent girl with a smile on their face? You guys didn't take no for an answer... so now I'm gonna ask you: do you want to die?"

"NO!"

"And now you know how it feels. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

"PLE-mmmmmph...!"

Yamazaki leaned in close, lips to his ear as his hand muffled his screams. "Ohhh shh shh shh shhhhhhh... relax, big guy. Good news... it's almost over. You're about to die now. I'm going to make you see it as it happens. You won't be able to close your eyes. I won't let you."

Despite a few flails of protest, Gianni's head was draped over the bowl once again, his nose now subject to his own stink as the smell floated upwards, forcefully sucked into his nose by his panicked breaths.

He tried to shut his eyes... but he felt the cold steel of Ryuji's knife slide across that flimsy, fragile skin. The sting was so bad, he tried to close his eyes tighter and tighter... but it kept coming.

The knife swiped across his upper eye: a quarter portion of the world was restored.

PLOP!

Another swift stroke: his left eye was now completely open.

PLOP!

He looked down... and saw the two halves of his eyelids floating in his own disgusting stomach soup.

PLOP! PLOP!

Two more strokes across his right eye, and the draft started to sting his bare eyeballs. He was perpetually looking downwards, all four pieces floating right in front of him. The tears started pooling, as his eyes became more and more agitated without the sweet release of blinking.

"Now that's better. Hehehe. Yeeeeeah... I want you to see this." Yamazaki chuckled. He reached his hand up, just to place a demeaning little pat on his victim's head.

"P...p...p..." at this point, Gianni's lips were quivering with so much fear, he could barely blubber a pleading word.

"Well, I guess it's only fair to give you some last words." Ryuji rolled his eyes. "Fine... let's hear em."

"P..p...p..."

"Any day now."

"Pl...eaa...se... I'm b-b-b-begging you..."

His teeth shined. "You're begging me, eh? That's cute. I bet SHE would've liked the chance to beg. But you and your garbage friends didn't even give her that simple commodity. Hell, I'm being more generous to you right now than you guys were to her. Be sure to send me a thank you card while your flesh is burning."

"NOOOOO-GGGHGLGGLGGHGHGGHHHHHHHHHHHLLLLL!"

Ryuji shoved his head downwards, and it completely disappeared, submerged within the contents of the toilet, only his neck and everything else visible as it flailed and kicked and spasmed with survival instinct.

He held it for four seconds... before forcefully JERKING Gianni back upwards by his hair, granting him a grisly moment to cling to life, coughing and expelling the rancid liquid from his lungs, nostrils, eyes stinging red like raw salt coating them...

"What was that you said?"

"PL-LUGUGGHGHGHGHGHGHHGGHHHHHHHHGGGGLLGLLLLL!"

His head went back into the toilet, this time for seven seconds. His body kicked and flopped a lot more violently this time, but had nowhere to go in Ryuji's strong grasp. After those seconds ticked by, Ryuji once again resurfaced him.

"I'm sorry, I keep missing that last part."

"COUGH COUGH COUGHGGHH! PLEE-GGGGHGUHHHGHGHHHHHHHHHLLLLLLLL..."

His head went down for a third and final time... and this time, Ryuji did not stop. Seconds and seconds went by as the body fought against him, wriggling and writhing, struggling with all its might to preserve its life... until the muscles ceased to function.

It took approximately one minute for Gianni Savino's body to go completely still.

As quickly as it was over, Yamazaki rose to his feet, dusted off his hands, and immediately proceeded to the sink to wash his hands. He pocketed his knife, grabbed a handful of paper towels, and checked underneath the sink for a utility cabinet. He opened the double doors... and his mouth widened with glee.

"Bingo."

After using the generous cleaning products provided to restore the stall door back to its beautiful, blue glory... he allowed Gianni Salvino one last bit of mercy by pulling the handle on the toilet to flush away the disgusting contents, and leave him floating lifelessly in clean water at the very least.

Yamazaki slipped out of the restaurant just as silently as he had slipped in. With a content sigh, he whistled a merry tune as he pocketed his hands and strolled off into the night. He would sleep well, basking in the afterglow of the kill.

**Whew. Welp, one down, four a-holes to go. Beat that, Rex!**

**He's gonna get the chance, as next chapter is all his. Stay tuned as the list whittles down a la that popular movie by Tuentin Quarantino : )**


	5. Chapter 5

**Many thanks for the BEAUTIFUL advertisement, Jojo. XD**

**I never really planned to give this chapter my all. I mean, this is the second of four goons; a near-lull here would make the last one all the sweeter. But apparently I don't have much self-control, because things get pretty out-of-hand in this one. I shudder to think of trying to one-up this next time...especially since I might actually DO it. O_o**

**Hope you enjoy!**

The next day, Athena handled her medical business.

It was not a fun day.

First she went to the dentist, where she found that despite what they said on TV, tooth implants had NOT become "affordable for everyone". Each one was going to run her $3,000; she needed four of them. She also had a few teeth that had HEALED just fine, but had cosmetic breaks it would take her time and effort to regrow. She had the dentist look at these too; fixing them artificially would require crowns, and those weren't cheap either if you wanted them to look pretty.

She refused to answer when the dentist asked how she'd gotten like this.

After she'd scheduled the appointments, Athena went to the doctor, which involved a lot less money but a whole lot more waiting. Here she just claimed she'd lost a rough fight (she was a fighter, she got in fights all the time). Eventually she found that the best treatment available to her was...nothing. The bone chips in her lungs would actually go away on their own, soon enough that surgery to remove them wasn't worth it. The toe would too, though the doctor could at least get her some special shoes to make it comfortable. As for the scars, there was basically nothing he could do; topical ointments wouldn't help them fade much faster, and he couldn't even tell her how much they'd fade in the first place.

She'd come up with a grisly backup plan, though. She asked the doctor how deep the scar tissue ran, not telling him she hoped to CUT IT OUT then quickly heal the new wounds. But while most of the scars were light enough for that, the stomach wound was different. The knife had gone all the way through the tissue, and the scar did as well; to heal THAT, she'd have to cut just as deep - ALL AROUND it, without disemboweling herself - then somehow keep the presence of mind to regrow a large chunk of flesh very quickly.

In other words, she couldn't heal that. And the doctor doubted it would ever fade completely.

By the time she left, she wanted to claw her eyes out for a different reason. Then she wouldn't have to watch as she threw her iconic red bikini away. As she threw ALL her bikinis away, and her crop tops and vests and everything else. As she got in and out of the shower every miserable goddamn day of her life.

The next time she thought about the deaths she'd decreed, she had a VERY different reaction.

* * *

Kenzo Watanabe was practically Gianni's opposite.

He didn't love hitting women. He didn't love hitting anyone. He was just in it for the money...or at least, that's what he said. What he REALLY wanted was the satisfaction of doing a good job. Japanese born and bred, he'd had values like loyalty and dedication instilled him since birth - values Gianni Savino barely even knew existed. He'd once owed a great debt of honor to the Syndicate, so he joined them, repaying it ten times over by doing his best at what he did best.

Which was not to say he was a better man.

What Kenzo Watanabe did best was pain, intimidation and despair. He not only knew how to hit, he knew how to get in peoples' heads. To that end, he'd also brought his own weapon to the assault: the crowbar. The brutal-yet-efficient tool was good at both jobs, and he'd used it to great effect on Athena's frail, frightened frame. He'd taught her to hate the flat of the blade, to FEAR the razor-sharp base...and then he'd started hooking her organs and PULLING, nearly ripping her apart so much she'd almost wished he WOULD.

And that wasn't even his favorite weapon.

Apart from that, though, Kenzo was a pretty boring guy. After another job well done, he drove home that night with a simple takeout meal, sipping on the soda and feeling tired but content. He was looking forward to his night as he pulled in and parked his car, ready to switch to Asahi Super Dry and watch some American crime dramas (or, as he liked to think of them, American comedies).

But the second he opened the door, he knew something was wrong. Things were out of place; the window was open, the bedroom door closed. He pulled back and drew his gun, then slowly looked inside, scanning the room for threats.

Sadly, he didn't think to look up.

The moment he walked through the door, Ryuji fell on him like a spider monkey, crushing the man's massive frame beneath his almost-as-massive own. He didn't stop moving when they hit the ground, slapping on a full body chokehold before Kenzo could begin to fight back. Once he felt it lock in, the big man knew he was fucked...but that didn't stop him from struggling, thrashing until his face turned blue and his arms and legs slowed to a stop.

As he faded away, he heard Ryuji's laughter. "MAN, I wish you'd looked up first. Would've loved to see your face..."

* * *

He woke up to a cold glass of water in the face.

Kenzo squinched his eyes tight, gasping and coughing. Once he recovered, he looked down to find himself tied to his chair, bound with the same nylon rope he kept tucked away in his closet. Then he looked up to find Ryuji Yamazaki, devil of the Japanese underworld, staring down at him with a terrible grin...and he knew he was REALLY fucked.

"Finally back with us, eh?" Ryuji sneered. "You weak, stupid baby. You'd think I almost KILLED you or something."

But along with loyalty and dedication, Kenzo had his pride. His only response was to scowl and hiss, "WHY."

"You remember a couple nights ago? When you and your pals paid a visit to God's gift to J-Pop?"

Kenzo's eyebrow raised. "And you're on HER side?"

"Hey, I'm on ANYONE'S side if the price is right," said Ryuji. But then he leaned down, got right in his captive's face. "Take away the money, though? And yeah. I'm on her side. People who aren't in this game shouldn't get fucked by it for no reason. And you pricks did NOT have a reason."

"Tell it to the bosses. They told me to do it; that's good enough for me."

"...I see," Ryuji mused, rubbing his chin. "So that's how it is. You're a COMPANY man. You don't follow your heart, or even your wallet. You're just a rat, waiting for the Pied Piper to lead you straight to Hell."

"Are you done?" Kenzo growled.

Ryuji brayed out in laughter. "Oh, not even CLOSE," he assured him, patting his head.

As Kenzo scowled again, Ryuji turned and walked away from him, heading to the wall. "Now while I was busy taking all your valuables and destroying every trace of your identity, I found out something pretty fun. You might be OKAY with beating little girls...but you'd rather SHOOT them, wouldn't you?"

His scowl a bit weaker, Kenzo didn't respond.

"Yeah, you've got guns all over this place," Ryuji went on as he crossed the room. "Big and small, old and new, good and RIDICULOUSLY bad. You're a collector; it's probably your only hobby. You've even got a nice display case for your favorites," he teased, stopping next to a large glass cabinet - and picking up the lock.

Now Kenzo's scowl faded entirely.

"SEVEN freaking guns. In a GLASS case, right in the middle of the living room. You got some balls, don'cha?" Ryuji laughed, tossing the lock away. "Bet you've never had the balls to try 'em on yourself, though. And I bet you've wondered, 'What's it like? Getting hit with these guns, THESE seven specifically?' ...well you're in luck, Jack...cuz you're about to find out."

"Fuck you," Kenzo spat nervously.

"No thanks," Ryuji coolly replied as he opened the case. He started at the top, picking up the Glock 29 (which he'd already loaded). "Might fuck YOU later...but ehh, I'd rather shoot ya."

And without another word, he leveled, aimed, fired, and blew off Kenzo's middle finger.

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry," he lied, as Kenzo jolted and grunted in pain. "Now how're you ever gonna drive...?"

Kenzo didn't respond, too busy squinching his eyes and gritting his teeth. Blood spurted from the base of his finger for a second, then slowed down to a steady trickle. Finally he sighed, the worst of it over...then looked up at Ryuji, a bit paler but somehow still scowling.

"...huh. You took that one pretty good," his tormentor admitted. "This mean you're one of those assholes that thinks he never screams?"

"Fuck...you," Kenzo struggled out.

"Ha! Sounds like a yes to me," Ryuji cackled. He turned back to the case and picked out the second gun down - a Colt 357 Magnum. "You know, I like that in an ally...but I HATE it in a victim. So you better think reeeal careful on this one, pal: which do you wanna be to me? A little fun...or a CHALLENGE?"

He didn't give him long to think on it, as he leveled the new weapon and fired almost as fast as before. This time the bullet hit the top of Kenzo's foot, not taking anything off but pretty much ruining his tendons. His response was to groan, lean his head down, shudder...and then look up with a glare.

"Ohhh, you're gonna regret THAT one," said Ryuji, grinning madly.

He went through the next few guns in rapid, bloodthirsty succession. He fired the Smith & Wesson revolver from about a foot away, shattering Kenzo's shoulder blade. He fired the Tommy gun from off to the side, shredding Kenzo's inner thigh with round after round. He fired the 18th-century musket (DAMN he'd been happy to see that) right at Kenzo's elbow - and managed to take off the whole forearm, sending it flying across the room as blood poured from the wound.

By now Kenzo was a torn, broken, half-conscious mess. He was groaning nonstop, his head lolling on his neck; his color was fading fast as his lifeblood seeped out of him. Yet he still hadn't screamed, earning a rare, grudging respect from Ryuji Yamazaki.

But he still had two more tries.

"Hey. HEY," he barked, prodding Kenzo's face with the barrel of the sixth gun. The big man groaned again, blinked...and then stared wide-eyed at Ryuji's weapon: an M40 sniper rifle.

"You call yourself a collector?" Ryuji scoffed, shaking his head as Kenzo started breathing hard. "This thing looks like a fucking BB gun. You should've gone with the A5, man. Little modern-chic, but at least it's a GUN."

"...please..." Kenzo struggled out. "...just...end it..."

"Yeah, yeah." Ryuji backed up against the wall, wanting distance for this one. He got down in one knee and took aim at the big man's head. "You know what they say about BB guns, though...

"...you'll shoot your eye out."

And he fired, the bullet tearing its way from the cartridge at 1800 miles an hour. It passed directly through Kenzo's eye, and through it, and through his brain, before blasting out of his skull in a gory spray. ...but Ryuji knew this game by now. He knew how most forms of violence worked, including shots to the head. So he had fired at an angle, managing to take out the man's eye without taking the vital bits just behind it.

(Granted, it DID take off half the side of Kenzo's head, but hey - if you want to make an omelet, right?)

"GHHHCK‼ ...ffffffFUCK‼ Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck..." Kenzo writhed in his seat, blood streaming from his head, tears streaming from his eye. He could smell copper in the air, as if a fine red mist surrounded him; he could hear things squishing, dripping, oozing, just under his agonized moans. He could actually feel a DRAFT in his SKULL. But he didn't SEE anything, shutting his last remaining eye tight. He couldn't see...didn't WANT to see...he did NOT WANT TO SEE...

"Lookin' good, champ."

Ryuji prodded him with the gun again. His eyes shot open on reflex - and the madman was holding a phone in front of him, set to "mirror" mode. And he saw it. He saw the massive hole in the side of his head, the bits of bone and brain scattered on the floor, the blood coming from everywhere, everywhere, EVERYWHERE -

Kenzo would've finally screamed, then, if he hadn't vomited first.

"There we go," said Ryuji, patting his back as he spilled his lunch into his lap. "Let it all out. Good boy..."

"...you freaking PSYCHOPATH‼" Kenzo howled when he was done.

"Well look who's talking." Ryuji dropped the rifle and moved on, walking back to the case as he spoke. "You don't LIKE killing, but you do it to suck up to the Man. Even when it's a little girl, you don't bat an eye. That's turning people into ACTION ITEMS, Kenzo. THAT'S psychopathy. Compared to you, I'm just a little kid at playtime."

He then retrieved Kenzo's most-prized weapon: an original Purdey double-barreled shotgun.

"I'll give you one thing, though: you didn't scream," he went on as he walked back. "I put you through hell, and you STILL kept up your stupid rule. You're a credit to tough guys everywhere...even if you're an asshole that's dumb as rocks." From a whole yard away, Ryuji leveled the shotgun at Kenzo's head. "Any last words?"

"...f...fffuc - "

"Ugh, forget I asked," said Ryuji, rolling his eyes. He leaned up to the sight...closed an eye and took aim...started to pull the trigger...

...and then looked down and shot him in the balls instead.

**"AAAAGGHHHHHHHH‼‼"**

The massive blast destroyed almost the whole base of the chair, sending Kenzo tumbling to the floor. It also pretty much destroyed his crotch, turning his genitals to soup and nearly taking off his legs. Kenzo howled, and writhed, and pounded on the floor, and lots of other things you wouldn't expect from someone who'd lost that much blood. He wouldn't last for much longer...but it was enough.

Ryuji watched and chuckled for a moment. Finally, mercifully, he walked up to his victim. He drew his knife, leaned down and growled into his ear:

"THERE'S my scream..."

He slit the man's throat in one stroke, turned and walked away, not even bothering to watch as Kenzo Watanabe died.

**Don't worry, he's dead. No "didn't see the body" shenanigans here. ;)**

**So that's what happens when I don't rein it in, lol. (See? I could've done WAY worse shit to Athena by now. ;P) Tune in next time to see Jojo try to one-up me, and then the time after that to see what happens when I actively let the reins GO.**

**See you next update!**


	6. Chapter 6

**So... some unsettling news as of late. Rex Madison apparently had a personal crisis and decided to go on hiatus out of the blue. I don't really understand it, but all I can do is two things. For one, wish him the best and that his woes pass quickly, so we can welcome our friend back.**

**And two... this is OUR story. I started this with him. He's the other half, the other critical component needed to see things through. So, it's only fair that I put this on hold and wait for his return. This could be the last chapter for a while, or maybe he'll go back to normal and come back quickly. In any case, let's give Rex our best.**

Three days have passed.

Not a word from Ryuji since the day they met in that shithole bar. Her anxiety was at an all-time high... and she hadn't even figured out for what.

Was he in trouble? Nah... not THAT guy. Maybe the job was long over. Maybe he'd already rode off into the sunset without so much as a "I'll send the bill".

Should she call him? No... don't want to sound desperate. Plus, she could accidentally compromise him wherever he may be, then he'd surely want to recreate the awful beatdown she suffered in one-man form.

And so, Athena did what she always did... sit there and let her mind run rampant, with no plausible direction.

Vengeance. Remorse. Wrath. Compassion. Which one was she? Why did she wish the worst fate on her attackers, then lose sleep over it the night after? Why would she sign a contract with righteousness swelling, then see only a monster when she looked in the mirror?

Maybe it didn't even matter. They're still dead. That's got to be worth enough.

* * *

Elliot Zorka: an American born of a Czech father and his USA mother. His #1 goal in life was to emerge from their sheltering, become his own man, earn vast wealth, raise a family... the American dream if ever there was one. At the age of 35, he had succeeded in several areas: he was a man never hurting for money, had a cozy little house in the countryside, and while he never managed to keep a wife, he did manage to bring his most precious creation into this world... his daughter. 11 years old. He loved her like no man ever loved before.

The cost of this life was expensive... or cheap, depending on one's views of morality. For the life he gets to live, he simply had to shed himself of any innocence, any decency once tied to the man he used to be. There was a time when he was naive on how the world worked under his parents' protection... but now he knew all too well: the strong, the ruthless, the cruel step above the weak, profit from their suffering, and prosper with their heels above the necks of the innocent.

Athena was no exception to that, when he used a hammer to beat the fuck out of her, smashing her ribs, her kneecaps, hammering into the soft, gelatinous flesh that contained her internal organs, further liquidating them more than Gianni already had. During those particularly sadistic moments, he would flip it to the clawed end, to dig inside her and rend the muscle tissue to proportions that would make recovery quite a project. He took great effort into smashing her toes, experimenting to see how many different directions he make them point. North, south, east, west... even the more complicated directions that lie in between, until her toes were less recognizable than shriveled, discolored potatoes.

To live a happy life with his daughter, he committed a horrible, horrible sin. He was willing to live with it. Unfortunately for him... two particular people were NOT, and one was in a very good place to do something about it.

"Eliza! Eliza, are you ready for school yet?"

"I'm almost there, dad. Just brushing my teeghghghghghhthhh..."

"Well hurry up! You know the bus showed up earlier yesterday."

"GARGHGHGHGHGHGLLL PTEW! That's because some kids moved and the bus can bypass that street altogether now. Man, I hardly have time to eat breakfast now..."

"Well, wake up earlier."

"NEGATIVE!"

"Hahaha."

Elliott did what he did every single morning: he woke up with his daughter, never wanting to miss seeing her before she hopped on the school bus. That was usually the only time he got to see her; by the time she got home, he usually had to be at work, and the babysitter would be en route at the usual allotted time.

As he sat in his comfy chair, coffee in hand, his face brightened when he heard the thudding of the steps... and his beloved daughter emerged, backpack shouldered, her hair nice and done up. Her shoes clean and polished, her jeans freshly pressed, her shirt bright and pink and exuberant. She was... so precious...

"...Eliza?"

Eliza halted her advance towards the fridge and turned. "Hm?"

"...Can I have a hug?"

"Cmon dad, the bus..."

"Please... just one."

Eliza couldn't resist his pleading face. "Fine..."

With a smile, Elliott put down his coffee and met the little girl, his proudest accomplishment, the center of his world, with a warm embrace. He had to struggle just to hide his sentimental tears.

"Oh Eliza... you're the best thing I've ever done." he whispered gently.

"Dad, why you acting so weird? I gotta go to school!"

"I'm sorry... I just... I love you."

"I love you too daddy, but I really need to grab a honeybun or something before the bus gets here!"

Elliott finally willed himself to break the hug. With a warm smile, he ruffled her hair a bit and sent her on her way. "Go on then. Have a good day, sweetie."

"Ah! That's the bus now! BYE DAD!"

And thus, Elliott Zorka was forced to watch, as many times before... as his daughter took off out of his house and started the timer on the agonizing seconds before he could see her again.

"Be safe... sweetie..."

Elliott slumped back in his chair with a loud sigh, his ears taking in the sound of the school bus's motor growing fainter... fainter... until it was an afterthought, and silence filled the humble abode.

"...Is your daughter gone?"

Elliott jumped so hard the coffee flew from his grasp and hit the floor. He immediately tried to stand up, but that same calculating voice stopped him.

"DON'T... GET... UP. Is your daughter gone? Nod yes or shake no."

Elliott obeyed, slowly nodding yes... but his nerves were jumping at him, instinct screaming to take action. The mind was suspended with ultimatum, freezing him in that spot as it tried desperately to work itself out... until it did.

Elliott sprang out of the chair and sprinted towards the bookshelf, where he kept a gun hidden in the third exact book from the far left.

"Oop, we got a runner."

Elliott had just enough time to outstretch his hand before a knife came whizzing forward, the blade penetrating his palm so deeply, the handle was lodged all the way in, the blade sticking out the other end painted with red.

"AUUUUGHHH! SHIIIIiiiit!" he yelped with pain as he collapsed to the ground, hitting his head on the bookshelf and sending literature tumbling all over the living room floor.

"People never listen to a word I say. I'm full of good advice, ya know."

In shock from the gushing blood, Elliott tried to crawl away on his hands an knees. He only managed a couple yards before a hand snatched him by the hair and he was immediately forced into phase 2 of survival: pleading and begging.

"N-no please, you can't-"

"Oh, I can't? I CAN'T? That sounds dangerously close to a challenge, friend."

"N-NOOOOOO! AAARRRRGH!"

Yamazaki forcefully slung him by the hair, sending him right back into his comfy chair... which now felt like a horrific prison he'd give anything to break out of. He tried to rise up again, but a swift sole to his stomach put him ass-first into the cushion.

"P-please... ahh my hand... please don't do this..." Elliott immediately showed no shame in begging.

"What'll ya give me?" Ryuji humored his pleas with a grin, leaning over, hands in pockets as he locked eyes with him.

He was still shuddering from the pain and shock, but he tried to talk. "I'll... guh-give you... anything you want. J-just please leave me alone."

Ryuji tilted his head. "Hmm? Anything? Okay then. Deal. I'll name it all off for you, mmkay? You may want to write it down."

But before Elliott could figure out if he was serious or not, Ryuji immediately rose up and turned around, pacing back and forth.

"I'm gonna need... a time machine. Yep. And I need you to go back a few days, about three or four, back to before you utterly tormented a purple-haired girl one night in her apartment. Hell, you should probably go back even FURTHER, to before you assholes even met her in the first pl-"

"So that's what this is about!" he blurted, clutching his quivering hand as the blood dripped.

Ryuji spun back around, pointing a finger. "Bingo. You guys fucked up. I'm the guy who fucks up the fuck-ups. So... unless you can go back and erase what you did, you're about to be in for a very unpleasant morning."

"I... I only did it for..."

"Oh I know why you did it." Yamazaki smiled. "You did it because it's your job. You did it because it earns you that lovely paycheck. I can respect that. I'm not here to punish you for your line of work. I'm not here to judge or condemn you for how you make a living. I'm just here for ONE REASON: you beat a girl half to death one night, she didn't appreciate it very much, and so she called me. Simple as that. Period. End of story. The end. Finito."

"I do it for my DAUGHTER! ASSHOLE!" he screamed, his fear channeling into a futile anger.

...But Yamazaki had walked away already. Elliott could hear his fridge door opening, followed by the rustling of plastic. His mind was telling him to get up again... get up and try to make a break for it. Maybe find his phone. But his body was... paralyzed... some overwhelming, unseen force kept his ass glued to the seat.

"Mmm. Bagels." he could hear Yamazaki say, followed by the click of the lever pulling down on the toaster. "I didn't eat breakfast this morning. Went STRAIGHT to work, hehehehehe..."

"What are you gonna do with me?" Elliott asked, starting to calm slightly with Yamazaki's presence far away.

"I'm gonna kill you. What do you think?"

Elliott felt his body twitch, like he wanted to jump out of the seat. "You can't do this to me."

POP! The bagels emerged from the toaster, now dark brown and crispy. Yamazaki didn't even bother spreading something on them; he immediately put one in his mouth and took a crunchy bite.

"Oh yeah? Crunch...crunch...crunch...crunch... why not?" he asked, crumbs flying from his mouth.

"I... m-my daughter... I have a..."

"Oooooh I have a daughter, I have a daughter, bleh bleh bleh bleeeeh!" Yamazaki mocked him in a high pitched voice as he finished off the first half of the bagel and dusted his hands off. He stopped for a moment before grabbing the other half to finish making his point.

"I got news for you, buddy. The only thing more despicable than what you did... is thinking you're absolved, thinking you can plead immunity by waving a fucking family in my face. Because I'm sure if your little girl saw the REAL you... she'd run in the other direction."

Yamazaki turned around to grab the other half of the bagel... and Elliott Zorka was on his feet, those words causing his anger to overshadow his fear, shocking him into action.

"RRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!" Elliott howled in agony as he RIPPED the knife from his hand and charged Yamazaki with it, intending to stab the life out of him with his own weapon while the man ate HIS food. This guy, this... SCUM... how DARE he talk about his daughter that way?! NO... he was a father. There was nothing more powerful than a father's love for his-

Yamazaki effortlessly spun around, bagel in hand, and caught Elliott's stabbing hand, slick with his own blood. With a sharp twist of his wrist, a horrid snapping sound resonated as Elliott yelped in pain... and perhaps cursing himself for his impulsive action.

Without a moment's hesitation or sympathy, Yamazaki turned Elliott's own hand on him and stabbed him in the gut. Before even giving the knife time to settle in, he controlled Elliott's hand to pull it back out and stab once again, in the liver. He pulled it out and stabbed again... and again... and AGAIN...

"Guuughkkk... guuuhhhgghh... guuuhhkkkk..." Elliott was gurgling his own blood as it expelled from his mouth. The man could only stay upright for a few more seconds before collapsing completely, his organs starting to fail him all over his internal network.

"Guuughhkkk...glllhghghkkk...guuhkkk... sh-sheee...cuuughh...caaaant... luhhh... live wi...vou... me..." Elliott choked out, darkness fading all around him.

"Oh, she's gonna do just fine."

Yamazaki put the bagel in his teeth, knelt down, knife in hand... and he plunged it into the base of Elliott's stomach and slowly dragged upwards, carving the precious meat that contained his internal components until it split wide open down the middle, spilling the contents within all over the living room floor.

Elliott Zorka's body jerked, flailed, a few more bloody gurgles rattling in his throat... until his final death rattle reduced him to a lifeless stump.

Yamazaki took a moment... just a slight MOMENT... to look down at the corpse of the father and reflect upon what he did. He allowed himself a brief second to ponder the gravity of what he did, taking a father away from a little girl... and it passed as quickly as a draft in a doorway.

Yamazaki gave Eliza Zorka at least one professional courtesy: at least she wouldn't have to come home and see her father's body.


	7. Chapter 7

**Well, guys, I'm back. ...again. (How many comebacks does this make now...?) Long story short, I overreacted to some junk and decided I needed a break. Still kinda do, really - but I don't think shutting you guys out is the answer anymore. ...I think I just need to lighten up. :P**

**That won't start with THIS story though, lol. I think I may have channeled some aggression with this one. It's definitely worse than my last chapter - and probably my nastiest stuff yet. (I think the fact that I can say that means I'm a prolific torture writer. ...super. XD)**

**Hope you enjoy this last stop on Ryuji's Rampage of Revenge. The next chapter's gonna be a little more complicated...and it's also gonna be the last. See you there!**

The next evening found Athena studying facial lacerations.

She had her reasons for it, of course. She'd had a public appearance today, her first since the beating. All of her marks were either gone or covered with clothing, and she managed to keep a smile on her face. But it felt like a nightmare, putting herself on DISPLAY for people when she really didn't want to be scrutinized. She only kept up her cheery facade because she didn't have to talk much.

And then came the meet-and-greet with the fans, where Athena got to speak to her more ardent supporters one by one. In a way, this was even worse...but at least this time she wasn't in front of a crowd, and a lot of these fans happened to be children (or families WITH children). Soon her mood actually brightened a bit, as she forgot about what had been done to her - and what she'd done back.

Then the next little boy ran up and shook her hand eagerly.

...and took off her glove.

...and the cotton filling in for her pinky.

He ran away from her crying, not even telling his mother (who, like everyone else, hadn't noticed the incident). ...it was the best possible outcome, really - but Athena's heart still broke into a million pieces. She had to cancel the meet-and-greet, going home immediately in a private car; from there she ran upstairs to her apartment, flopped on the bed and cried, staying there for several hours.

So, a little while later, she went online and searched for facial lacerations.

She was looking for the sickest, most disgusting images of ruined faces she could find. She nearly threw up several times, and her heart kept skipping beats...but she kept at it, until she got USED to them. Until they didn't sicken her anymore.

Because when Ryuji got that head to her, she wanted to be READY.

* * *

Gunnar Egilsson was...a guy.

Period.

That's all Ryuji could dig up on him, anyway. Beyond his blond hair, beefy frame and Icelandic heritage, there was nothing to the guy. He was no philosopher, no ronin, no family man; just a mild-mannered dude who came in and did his job and left. He didn't seem to take a lot of pride in that job, either, as evidenced by his weapon choice for Athena: her lamp.

Granted, he'd gotten his shots in. A few of them had given her brain damage, even (she'd just barely been coherent enough to repair it). But in the end, the guy was using a LAMP. Boring, mundane, no creativity whatsoever...just like Gunnar himself, or so Ryuji's sources claimed.

So why did he feel like he had saved the best for last...?

He pulled up to his target's high-rise apartment building at ten o'clock, wanting to be sure the man was home. Rather than an ambush, he'd decided to use the direct approach for this one, just to make things a little more fun. He rode up to Gunnar's floor and walked right up to his door, ready to kick through it and go in guns blazing (or in his case KNIFE blazing).

When he did it, though, he found that Gunnar wasn't there.

"...eh?" Ryuji frowned, looking over the apartment. The intel said he would be here by now, probably eating some instant ramen and watching TV before bed. _So much for reliable sources, _he groused. Gunnar might not be the only one getting a visit tonight...

They seemed right about one thing, though: the man was boring as hell. He had a bunch of instant meals (and empty wrappers in the trash), a few drab pieces of furniture, a bookshelf full of what looked like technical writing, and an unbearably old CRT television. Ryuji felt like smashing THAT out of sheer principle.

Better not to leave evidence, of course. Wordlessly, he left the scene and closed the door behind him, actually setting the knob lock on his way out. From there he went back down to the parking lot, planning to stake Gunnar out until he got too bored to care.

He left JUST in time to see Gunnar's van, hurtling down the road at speed.

To his surprise, though, it didn't head straight home. Instead it pulled into the parking lot across the street, heading towards the building's rear exits. He took a closer look at said building - and raised his eyebrows.

It was an abandoned warehouse.

_Never doubt your instincts, Ryuji, _he thought with a dangerous grin.

He quickly set off in pursuit, hopping in his own car and crossing over to the lot. He parked at the side of the building, not wanting to be seen just yet (though he didn't care enough to park too far away to be HEARD). After a moment of silence, he looked around the corner to find Gunnar already gone, nothing but his van and a slightly-open door to betray him.

Ryuji considered the direct approach again - but heck, this was fun enough already. So instead he walked up to the door, slowly eased it open, and peeked his head inside.

And Ryuji Yamazaki's eyes widened into saucers.

He had opened a portal to a torture chamber, wide and dark and teeming with menace. Dozens of tools hung on the walls, from handcuffs and whips to pruning shears and blowtorches. A worn, beaten metal table stood in the center. Harnesses hung from the ceiling, some of them with no arm or leg holes. A genuine iron maiden sat in the corner, halfway open and clearly still in use.

And all of it was covered in dried blood.

"Hooo...leee...SHIT." He entered the empty room absently, staring at it in something like awe. He'd seen some serious shit in this line of work - but this took the cake. This took enough cakes to put the whole damn BAKERY out of business. _Maybe it IS the quiet ones you've gotta watch..._

Then he heard a woman's scream, and realized he'd caught the man in the act. Hardly a hero, Ryuji followed it quickly but cautiously, ducking into the hallway that led off from the side of the room. The scream had been muffled and faint, so he started down the hall - but then he heard ANOTHER scream, this time clearly from behind a thick, heavy door to his left.

Kicking his way in wouldn't work here...but Ryuji was no common thug. With one snakelike whip of his arm, he smashed the locking mechanism to pieces, taking the doorknob and a bit of the door with it as well. Then he threw the door open before anyone inside could react - but when they turned to look at him, he was caught just as off-guard.

The last room, apparently, was for playtime. THIS was the OPERATING room. It too was dark, with only one light bulb overhead - but it was small and overcluttered, feeling downright claustrophobic. The tools here had a more surgical theme, including scalpels, syringes and various chemicals. The only platform was a hospital bed, set in a half-reclined position. And the "patient" was a woman in her early twenties, strapped down and gagged but otherwise unharmed.

...which wouldn't have lasted much longer, as the "doctor" had just picked up an electric bonesaw.

Finally, Ryuji smirked. "...did I come at a bad time?"

"What the FUCK do you want⁇" snarled the "mild-mannered" Gunnar. (Meanwhile the woman screamed into her gag for help; both of them ignored her.)

"Easy, easy!" Ryuji soothed, holding up his hands. "Not here to ruin your fun. Just here to kill you, that's all."

"For what!?"

"How 'bout the girl you DIDN'T cut up?" he said darkly. "The one you were dumb enough to leave alive? The one who had the money to hire ME to teach you a lesson?"

"And who the fuck are you?" the man growled.

Now Ryuji grinned.

"Me? I'm YOU, pal. Except I don't hide. I let the world SEE who I am, so it knows it should fear me. ...and so I don't have to blow off steam by being a sadist prick to innocent girls."

"You wanna see a sadist prick⁇" Gunnar screamed. "Then you're gonna GET one‼"

And then he turned on the bonesaw and lunged, aiming for Ryuji's throat.

...he could've laughed, really, at how pathetic the guy was. Gunnar was using his weapon all wrong, swinging the gun-like base back and forth instead of stabbing with the buzzsaw sitting at the end. He had no technique, no SUBTLETY whatsoever; Ryuji could see his attacks coming from ten miles away. He had fun dodging them for a moment, then got bored and blocked the next, intercepting Gunnar's forearm with his own.

Then he used the other hand to wrench his weapon away.

It didn't seem to phase Gunnar, who just growled and started punching. These strikes were a little faster, but really just as predictable. Ryuji blocked a straight right, a gut punch, and a shot to the ribs with ease. Gunnar followed with a lunging overhand, Ryuji had time to dodge...and just like that he had him, wrestling the big man to a seat on the floor with an arm around his neck.

Even then he didn't panic, snarling and trying to wrench out of the grip. He failed miserably, and this time Ryuji did laugh. "Oh, you poor bastard. You don't even know you're fucked, do you...?"

"I'll kill you," Gunnar choked out. "Feed you your heart - strangle you with your INTESTINES - "

Ryuji responded by putting the bonesaw up to his mouth.

"You need to stop talking," he warned as Gunnar's eyes went wide. "You're giving me ideas."

Gunnar did just that and then some, his whole body freezing. He could only move his eyes, staring down at the two-inch buzzsaw hovering next to his teeth. Comprehension had finally dawned, and it wasn't pretty.

As he sat in shock, Ryuji took the opportunity to free his captive. He'd wanted to wait until the job was done - but the fight had ended IN the room, putting her in full view of what was coming. Luckily, it had also ended close to the bed, and she was only secured with three long straps. So it was a snap for Ryuji to reach up and cut through them, quickly letting her loose.

"Get outta here," he said needlessly (she was already off the bed). "You don't wanna see this." She followed the order without hesitation, thanking him as she ran.

Once she was gone, Ryuji turned off the saw, put it down on the ground - and grinned. "Alright, buddy. ...now it's YOUR turn."

He stood up, dragging the man along with him. Gunnar yelped and started struggling again, but his strength was no match for Ryuji's inhuman will. He rolled his victim onto the bed, then looked around for some restraints - and had to laugh when he found shackles built into the bed's four corners. "Boy, you just have all KINDS of fun with your toys, don'cha?" he sneered as he locked Gunnar into the spread-eagle position.

"...p-p-p...p-p-p-please," the man sputtered.

Ryuji ignored that too, bending down and picking up the saw. "You know, I've always wanted to try one of these out," he mused. He turned it back on; his victim jumped at the sound. "Now if I only I knew where to start..."

"P-PLEASE! STOP! LET ME GO‼" Gunnar cried.

"Huh. I guess that settles it. ...I told you to stop TALKING."

He thrust the tool through Gunnar's lips and into his mouth. The man started screaming and didn't stop, the wails from his throat muffled by the buzzsaw on his tongue. Gums were shredded; teeth were splintered; the roof of his mouth split wide open. Then Ryuji moved off to the SIDE for good measure, cutting through Gunnar's cheek like butter until the blade burst right out of it.

"Holy SHIT, these things are good," Ryuji laughed as he withdrew. "I oughta be a surgeon!"

Gunnar responded by coughing up a terrifying amount of blood.

"Man. If it worked that good there...I wonder how it'll do HERE...?"

He cut into his forearms, sawing his ulnas and radii in half. He cut into his shins, clipping through the fibulas and grinding through the tibias. He cut into his chest, carving a jagged line into his sternum. Then he lifted him up a little and cut into his back, mangling his lower vertebrae beyond repair.

By then Gunnar had screamed himself hoarse. He was as bloody as his torture room, dotted with spare bits of bone and flesh. His skin was shockingly pale; he wasn't moving at all. Ryuji thought he might be dead until he suddenly vomited, spilling his lunch all over his chest.

"Oh, good, you're still with me!" Ryuji cheered. "Thought I'd lost you for a second."

"...kill...me..." Gunnar wheezed.

"Hmm...alright, what the heck. I've been itching to do this part anyway."

Ryuji lifted the bonesaw to Gunnar's throat, and Gunnar started shaking. But instead of digging in, Ryuji moved downward, teasing his way down Gunnar's neck - and stopping at his chest.

"Now what was it you said earlier? 'Feed you your heart'...?"

"GHHCK‼ ...n...n, n - "

"What, is that too much for you? Remember, pal - this was YOUR idea."

With that, Ryuji executed his _pièce de résistance_. He sliced Gunnar's chest open, digging through his ribs. Once he found what he wanted, he started pulling it out, lifting it slowly but firmly as his victim watched and wept. Then the ventricles snapped, and Gunnar's mouth opened wide - just in time for Ryuji to shove his prize right down his throat.

And so it was that Gunnar Egilsson, mild-mannered everyman from the most peaceful place on Earth, choked to death on his own heart in one of his two torture chambers.

Ryuji considered it and chuckled, shaking his head. "...I swear...this world gets more fucked up by the day."


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey guys! jojoDO here. Just wanted to let you know Rex and I went all out together for this grand finale. Just to make things clear, these 8 chapters went as follows: Both, Rex, Both, Me, Rex, Me, Rex, Both. So we had plenty of fun swapping paragraphs, and equally as much fun going solo to unleash our torture porn in this twisted tale : )**

**Without further ado, enjoy the conclusion. From myself and Rex, thanks and love you all.**

Athena woke up feeling stranger than usual. Something about the nature of this day cast a much wider veil, a surreal vagary in the fabric of reality surrounding her.

It felt like... finality.

Even now, so much later in the week, Athena had not the first inkling of a report from her current contractor, no idea of his progress in the assignment or even his well-being. But the stale shift in air this morning told Athena that plenty of blood had undoubtedly been spilled... and there was no denying that more people were dead now than when she was laying a broken mess on her apartment floor that night.

Where would she go from here? Would she revel in the justice she so punctually decreed, her heart burning with the sadistic fumes of self-gratifying retribution? That certainly sounded good. They DESERVED to die. What Athena asked of Ryuji was no different than what a mother would do for their child. When bad people harm the innocent, and are allowed to get away with it, an enabling shroud protects them from fear of reprisal, allowing an even easier indiscretion the next time. It's good that she hired Ryuji to do what he did. It sends a message... sometimes even the meanest dogs can get chomped.

But what had this week done to her?

Athena felt her hands creep towards her face unconsciously, as if to bury her shameful visage from omnipotent judging eyes. This week had affirmed a lot of things about her: that she could no longer carry the righteousness and piety she so proudly brandished her whole life, that she was capable of things that scared herself when she looked in the mirror, and... most importantly... she was no better than a human being. No... she was probably worse.

_...or am I? _she mused, thinking of some of the human beings she'd dealt with this week.

"...ugh. No, no, NO!" she scolded herself, shaking her head back and forth. It had been like this all week long, a nightmare of turnabouts and indecision. One minute she wanted nothing more than to take back what she'd done; the next she wanted nothing more than bloody vengeance. She felt only rage and sorrow now, for both her enemies and herself. Would that even go away if her last enemy died today? Or would that just make things worse...?

She could feel herself reaching the end of her rope. She needed to pick a side, and she needed to do it NOW. Accept that she felt terrible about what she'd done, and would somehow have to atone? Or admit that THEY were terrible people, and she should feel GOOD about it instead?

Hopefully, this "finality" she felt meant she'd get her answer soon.

* * *

This was it, Ryuji knew.

This would be the day.

It kinda made sense, really. Five days, five deaths...it felt fitting. POETIC, even. But going by actual logic, he should NOT be able to finish this tonight. His target was a mid-level boss in one of the biggest gangs this side of the Yakuza, and he had just lost four of his most trusted enforcers. He should be holed up at HQ right now, alongside the dozens of people that called the place home already. Failing that, he should at least have some PROTECTION. Bodyguards, security cameras, booby traps... Hell, Ryuji would've expected LANDMINES over absolutely nothing.

But that's what he got. Ichiro Sasaki, smack in the middle of the city, chilling in his penthouse apartment like nothing was wrong. No goons, no cams, no traps...and only two ways out. Either the front door that led into the "lobby" or the windows.

_Am I missing something - a LOTTA somethings - or do these guys not even like this prick...?_

* * *

Ichiro Sasaki. AKA Pizza Boy. AKA Soul Patch. AKA... the man who took a piece of Athena and set her down this unforgiving path.

They always said he was little off. A rebel since childhood, he bounced from orphanage to orphanage, leaving headaches and misfortune in his wake... until he went too far and found a jail cell as a new home.

A natural troublemaker, he always saw himself as a Yakuza guy. His number #1 goal in life was to become a made man... unfortunately that dream would always elude him.. It was his greatest regret, never being able to take part in what he deemed his destiny... but more importantly, never feeling the sadistic joy of those dirty jobs. He still managed to stay nose deep in the filth, however, as he soon rose to prominence within a shady business specializing in corrupt beauty products. This would become his venue, his domain, to religiously practice his Yakuza values that he held in such high regard. He believed in his twisted version of honor, in taking one's life to uphold their name... the removal of fingers as punishment or to teach an unforgettable lesson.

Being able to do what he loved took the edge off that lingering pain of never amounting to his true potential. How sad that the fun he so frequently partook in, as an outlet for channeling such negativeness... would prove to be his ultimate downfall. He took one finger too many... and the original owner of said recent acquisition possessed more than enough resources and vengeance to give him a taste of the terror he had dealt to many an innocent soul.

Short, erratic, hot breaths. His leg unconsciously bounced up and down as his butt struggled to stay in his recliner. In one hand, a soda which had been so furiously agitated the sugary nectar spilled over the rims, giving the carpet a premature staining.

In the other hand... a fully loaded 44. Magnum, the ammunition powerful enough to penetrate the thick oak wood of his apartment door. His hand struggled to steady the heavily weighted appliance, as the fear so powerfully consumed his nervous system to the extent of uncontrollable twitching and flailing in all his limbs.

Nonetheless, he kept it pointed at that door the best he could. And he waited. Waited... for the Grim Reaper to knock.

"G-guh...!" he sharply grunted as he steadied the weapon, swearing he must have heard footsteps. It was probably his imagination... but how could he put it past this messenger of death? He didn't know who the hell it was. Was this the wrath of Athena herself? Or was it someone even worse...?

Either way, he knew he was screwed. The moment he woke up that morning and tried to dial them: Gunnar, Elliott, Gianni and Kenzo and they didn't pick up... that was it. They were all he had. The only ones he trusted, his most sworn comrades. The ones who would spill blood with him, who would shoulder the sinister, disgusting lengths they transpired with him. The only ones who watched his back. They were gone. DEAD. He was all that's left.

He thought about it now, harder than he ever did in his life. All those people he hurt, all those fingers he took... why was Athena's so different? No... she WASN'T different. One was going to fight back eventually. It was human nature. He finally hit that peak, plain and simple. He finally found the one who wouldn't put up with it. It was as natural as biology.

"Just get up... just get up... just get up... get up and walk out. Get up and walk- AHH!"

He was seriously tempted, but the sound of clacking boots startled him so greatly, the soda slipped from his grasp and impacted on the carpet, terrorizing his ears with that unsettling hiss of the fizzy liquid. Now with two free wobbly hands, he held the weapon outwards with all the composure his scared witless soul could muster.

Yes... there was no denying that noise. Footsteps. CLACK...CLACK...CLACK... closer... closer!

He could feel the sweat drizzling down, giving an annoying tickle... but he didn't dare reach a hand up to wipe it.

And then... it happened. Three loud knocks.

"Hello! HELLOOOOOOOOO! Is this the right address? I got a large, double ham, double mushroom-"

**BLAMBLAMBLAMBLAMBLAMBLAM!**

Six bullets rang out, emptying the chamber so aggressively his wrist nearly dislocated from the furious recoil. Chunks of wood and splinters sprayed out in all directions, as fresh impact craters decorated the front door, the only paradigm of protection between him and this madman.

"Urrrgh... auuuugh..." THUD.

He heard a pretty loud thump, akin to the weight of a human body slumping to the ground. He knew this all too well, down to a science. Maybe... maybe he got him?

Nobody's fool, Ichiro made sure to reload before slowly, warily creeping towards the entrance. Even as he heard that groan and the subsequent collapse, his throat still failed to even find sufficient saliva to swallow. His legs continued to betray him, offering him no courage to step forward boldly even in HIS abode.

So he crept towards it instead, inch by inch by inch. A couple feet from the door, he suddenly cringed and started shooting again - not because he heard something, just out of paranoia. This time there was no response at all, which didn't relieve him much. Slowly, he closed the distance to the door...put his hand on the knob...

And the instant he turned it, the door flew into his face.

The force threw him back into his living room, shattering his nose. Crying out, he started firing even as he flew, then twice more when he landed. ...of course he had zero aim like this, and all three shots sailed ridiculously wide. He straightened up and started looking before he fired again - but now he was out of ammo, his gun giving him an empty, unforgiving click.

Then he FINISHED looking...and found himself staring at Ryuji Yamazaki.

"Holy SHIT," Ichiro burst out. "You? YOU⁇ She knows YOU!?"

"Oh yeah. 'Miss A' and me go WAY back," Ryuji snarked as he stalked towards him.

Ichiro didn't seem to know what to do next. He tried to draw his knife, but he was too busy scrambling backwards. "Please! PLEASE‼" he begged instead - even as he threw his gun.

Ryuji rolled his eyes, catching the weapon in midair. "D'you know how many times I've heard that this week?" he sneered. ...but then it became a grin. "I'll never get tired of it, though..."

"I - I can pay you!" Ichiro cried, finally getting to his feet. "That's what you really want, right? Money⁇"

"You really are a moron, aren't you?" Ryuji shot back. "That's ALL I need - to be the guy that'll sell out his clients to the highest bidder. Only a moron like you would ever hire me again." Then he narrowed his eyes. "Besides, I saw what you did to that girl. ...you couldn't pay me enough to turn my back on that."

Ichiro paled at the words, realizing just what he had done. He had crossed a line even RYUJI YAMAZAKI didn't like. For a second it made him question his choices in life...and then he remembered it was probably over anyway.

"N-no...no, listen, I...I'm sorry, okay!? I'm - GAAH‼"

Desperately, Ichiro ran forward - and Ryuji batted his knife away like he was a toddler.

"Makin' it easy for me, eh?" he taunted, slipping behind him and pulling his hands behind his back. "Works for me, you pinheaded prick. ...I wanted to take my time here anyway..."

With his wrists in one hand, Ryuji used the other to thrust a chloroformed rag in his face. Ichiro had just enough time to discover the true meaning of fear before he blacked out.

* * *

Athena was literally pacing back and forth when she heard it.

"Huh?" Her brow furrowed; she perked up her ears, but heard nothing else. She had a hunch, though, this wasn't a PHYSICAL sound in the first place. Putting her TV on mute and closing her eyes, she opened up her psychic senses, "listening" to see if she could hear it again.

_...I'm sorry...!_

"What...?" the girl mumbled, her eyes squinching shut even further. "I'm sorry"? What the heck was that? And why was it coming to HER?

But then she heard it again - and this time, she heard its voice.

Her eyes shot open wide. No...no, it couldn't be. She couldn't possibly have heard HIM - especially him saying THAT. He'd have to be right outside her door again; a quick check of her 'radar' for evil intent told her that wasn't the case.

Unless...

Could she have formed some kind of bond with him? A psychic link, born from all the up-close-and-personal trauma? That wasn't unheard of, she knew (thanks to Master Chin). It usually needed some kind of trigger to stick - but LOSING HER FUCKING FINGER would've fit the bill nicely.

Her heart pounding, she sat down on the bed. She put her arms and legs in the lotus position, closing her eyes once more. Then she started to meditate, desperately but calmly as she could. She needed to open her mind as much as possible; she needed to know what was happening, know what was really going on.

She needed to know if he'd really said it.

* * *

SPLASH!

A pitcher of ice water shocked his nerves back to full function, opening his eyes wide and triggering a yelp as the harsh reality returned to him. He immediately started darting his head in all directions as his body's first instinct was to move from this spot... but he quickly realized that would no longer be an option. He was bound to a chair, his ankles duct-taped together, his waist and arms secured by a rope. The only mercy granted to him was the ability to move his head, so maybe... maybe he could look away from the horror that awaited him.

"Congratulations. If you're here right now, that means you've fucked up worse than you've ever done in your sorry life." the voice of his tormentor gleefully announced.

Ichiro grunted in defiance, vainly attempting to wriggle himself free of the bonds. "Ugh! UGH! N-no! Not like... this... not like...!"

Ryuji gave a puppy dog pout. "Awwwwww, is the big bad finger cutter salty he has to go out being someone else's bitch? Heh. That's the game, buddy. That's the world we live in. You had a pretty good run of it, but until you cash those chips in... you're free game. You stuck around just a bit too long, hurt just a FEW too many people. Until you picked the wrong one, and I mean the WRONG ONE... and now look at you. You're about to die in horrific fashion. Hell, I've been instructed to deliver your head to the doorstep of the girl you wronged. Sucks to be you."

"L-let me talk to her!" Ichiro stammered. "Please- just let m-URRRRRGH!"

A sharp backhand across his face split his bottom lip open. As his head returned to its resting position, the blood began to pool, until finally trickling down the left side of his chin.

"Sorry amigo, it's just you and me now. You've had enough playtime with her. It's time for someone a little more your size. Heh... if I even stoop to call myself that."

Ichiro's body went board-stiff when his eye caught the ominous glimmer of the steel, as it emerged from Ryuji's pocket. Yamazaki sensed his fear; he couldn't help but lick his lips as he teased his victim, waving the knife back and forth, watching his terrified eyes track the movements.

"Ooooooh yes. You like this, don'tcha? I bet you've had all kinds of fun in your fucked up lifetime with these little beauties. Heh. Nothing like a good knife, my mama always said."

"Let me guess..." Ichiro tried to mask his fear with snark. "You're gonna dish out poetic justice, take a finger of mine now, right?"

...Something about that line made Ryuji snap. His eyes went distorted, one somehow contracting while the other seemed to bulge wider.

"ARE YOU TELLING ME HOW TO DO MY JOB?!" he screamed as he kicked Ichiro square in the chest, tipping the chair over, and with it, the person bound to it. Ichiro soon found himself in an extremely precarious situation: Ryuji's weight pressed down on him, the steel of the blade pressed against his trembling bottom lip. As angry as Ryuji seemed... for some reason, his lips curled to a wicked smile.

Ichiro was quickly realizing what he was dealing with here: someone with a mind not functioning in normal quadrants. That could mean a lot of things... but most of all, it meant there was limitless potential.

"Two things. One, don't insult me with such a laughably trivial idea like that. Two... you're in for a LOT worse than that, buddy. Don't you know you're the main event? Hehehehehe... the grand finale, so to speak. And I've had something special planned for you since I took this job..."

He wished his heart could slow down, but somehow the illusion of distraction Yamazaki exuded as he casually diverted his attention away from the task at hand only dug a deeper unsettling pit within him. He couldn't STAND this: the chaos, the... unpredictability. Yamazaki defied all which was just and orderly with his actions, and the uncertainty of what could come next drove Ichiro mad with such a rage, he wished his hands were free so he could just do it himself...

Yamazaki showed no concern for the potential factors of leaving his prey unattended. He even had his eyes closed, his head drawn back in bliss as he took what must have been the most ecstatic drag of tobacco ever. Ichiro found himself trying to vainly tug at the restraints, just on that slim hope...

"Mmm...mmm...mmm. I see why Big likes these things."

His anxiety reaching its boiling point, Ichiro all but claimed his life forfeit as he lost it with rage:

"Can we just get this over w-"

**SWOOSH!**

He didn't see a thing. He didn't even FEEL a thing. What was that just now? Something must have happened... he could have sworn the air shifted-

...He looked down and saw the scarlet stream spitting from the two nubs where his first two digits once resided. As his upper and lower lip slowly parted, the shock and realization setting in, his eyes went against his wishes and continued downward, past the red... and he saw them lying there, still outstretched.

His vocal chords kicked in all at once.

"A-Ah... Ahhhhh... AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

"Not a bad scream." Yamazaki cackled. "But save your lungs. We're just getting started, and you ain't getting no water break."

He put the knife to Ichiro, taking zero shame and 100 percent satisfaction in every scream, every curse, every beg to end it all. One by one, his fingers plopped onto the soft carpet, no longer bound to the being from which they originated. His precious components, the tools of his sadistic trade... they were lost to him forever, taken in the cruel throes of poetic righteousness by the word of the girl who he severed with such glee. The true nature of the cigar was finally revealed: with each freshly produced nub, his tormentor quickly applied the burning end to cauterize his gushing life essence. He was slowly losing it, unsure of whether his lightheadedness was a result of the blood or his overwhelming screams fatiguing himself.

"...you better wake your ass up," Yamazaki suddenly barked, splashing more water on him. "We're only halfway there."

Those words introduced a new terror. What the hell was he talking about? Ichiro had no fingers left! He looked down and he could see them, all neatly lined up, as they had fallen successively with each surgical knife stroke. Ichiro had taken a piece of Athena... and Ryuji took EVERYTHING from him in return. This was truly the end for him; at least Athena still had a chance at a real life, but him? His very hands were useless to him. He would never again be able to function normally, much less continue in his venomous line of work. Never again would he feel that sick joy of harming others... to Ichiro Sasaki, to be denied his pleasures in life was a fate worse than death.

But there were still worse fates to be had.

As Ichiro coughed more water up through his already-sore throat, Ryuji started picking up the pieces...literally. He bent down and plucked the man's fingers from the carpet, placing them in a small white cloth. Catching the irony even through his daze, Ichiro found the strength to scowl. "...wha... What, 're you gonna...GIVE 'em to her...?"

"Naah, she's getting your HEAD, remember?" Ryuji reminded him with a grin. "...no, I've got something more fun in mind for these."

Then he stepped behind him, leaving Ichiro's field of vision. He couldn't stretch back very far, so he was forced to HEAR Ryuji's actions without SEEING them, his dread growing by the second. He heard ominous footsteps...a heavy hand falling on wood...and then the deep, scratchy rumbling of something dragging across carpet. When it turned out to just be another chair, Ichiro felt relieved at first - but when Ryuji sat down right next to him, he knew that was an incorrect response.

"See, I figure you're a little pissed off right now," Ryuji began. "You take one of her fingers, and I take all ten? Hardly seems fair. But the thing is, I'm not TAKING 'em anywhere. You're still gonna have 'em, Itchy ol' boy. ...they're just not gonna be where you WANT 'em."

Ichiro was too hazy to understand that one. So he just stared in confusion as Ryuji reached up to his face, took his chin in his hand - and YANKED on it, dislocating his jaw. Already, Ichiro was screaming...but Ryuji wasn't done.

He followed up by reaching into the white cloth, grabbing one of the man's fingers, and shoving it right down his throat.

The scream became a strangled, choking sound. Ichiro's heart dropped into his stomach; his pupils narrowed into points. Then the mother of all gag reflexes set in - but before he could throw up, Ryuji clamped his mouth shut, giving the vomit and bile no place to go. Ichiro had no choice but to frantically gulp it back down, washing down his own finger with his own puke.

Finally he swallowed enough to breathe again, the violent breaths through his nose mixing with random groans and sobs. Once Ryuji let him go, though, he didn't gasp for more air - he just SCREAMED, long and loud, just at the thought of it. It was sweet music to Yamazaki's ears...but, for some reason, it annoyed him, too.

"Ahhh, put a sock in it," he growled...but then he shut him up himself, reaching up and putting a finger in it instead. "We're not finished yet...!"

And so they went, just like they had from his hands before. One after another, Ryuji fed the man his fingers. A small part of his brain was CHOKING on the irony; who could imagine one little finger would put him in this much trouble? But the rest of him was preoccupied with the ACTUAL choking - the constant stream of flesh and vomit going up and down his throat. He tried to resist, but it was useless, as his hanging jaw couldn't close enough to keep out Ryuji's hand. Eventually his body simply fell into the macabre rhythm, as his mind fell into chaos and his spirit waited for death.

* * *

Athena opened her eyes with a tremendous gasp.

"...holy shit," she choked out, her heart beating faster than ever. She had SEEN him. She had opened her mind, found that they DID share a bond...but this time she hadn't heard his thoughts. Instead she'd seen and heard what was around him. She'd seen that he was tied up at home, heard him moaning and writhing in agony.

And she'd seen Ryuji cut off his fingers and feed them to him.

She was...torn. She felt all sorts of things. She felt total disgust, her stomach threatening to revolt. She felt complete satisfaction, her blood pumping with vicious glee. She felt absolute horror, her heart dropping into her stomach. She didn't know what to feel most.

But she knew what she had to do.

Stone-faced, Athena took out her phone, pulled up the fateful contact and called it. She couldn't see the two anymore, so she had to wait a few rings nervously. Then, after an instant of silence, Ryuji's irritated voice came through the speaker.

"Are you SERIOUSLY calling me right now⁇ ...these are my work hours, y'know."

"Yes, I know," she answered calmly. "I can see it."

"Huh?"

"It's my powers, R...icky," she caught just in time. "I can see through his eyes. I know that you've got him. ...and I want you to tell me where he is."

"...really." She could practically hear his grin. "THIS oughta be good..."

"Just do it... please."

A slight hint of a sigh on the other end. "Welp, you're the boss, Miss A. I guess we'll hold off on the grand finale and see you when you get here. Oh, and our friend here says 'thank you' hahahahahahahahaha!"

Athena frowned hard. "Oh he won't be thanking me for long."

On the other end, Ryuji hung up his phone, took a deep breath, pressing the mobile device against his forehead with a look of... could it be fatigue?

Ichiro, in his half-conscious daze, was currently trying to read the man, when Yamazaki turned and flashed him a grin.

"I guess you think that's pretty fucking inspiring, don't you? Cmon. Smile a little."

Ichiro knew better. He knew he was dealing with a madman here: one who wouldn't dare let him off the hook, even at a moment when respite actually seemed a reality. That's why he only shut his eyes and looked away with terror when Ryuji approached with a maniacal smirk.

"Heh heh. Yeah. You know and well. Miss A may be on the way, but you're with ME right now. And I don't take breaks."

Ichiro could only steel whatever lingering, wispy reserves of resolve he had left as the brutality continued without falter.

* * *

About a half-hour later, Athena turned her car onto the appointed street. She parked at the end of it, got out, and started Teleporting, zig-zagging towards Ichiro's building to confuse any witnesses or cameras. Once there, she adjusted her shawl and her wig and went in, making a beeline for the elevator and taking it to the penthouse.

Then she threw them off, entered the apartment, and saw her tormentor one last time.

Ichiro was an absolute mess. He'd had the hell beaten out of him, the old blood from his nose mixing with new trickles from cuts and bruises (Ryuji had also thoughtfully - and painfully - relocated his jaw for him). His legs were bent at terrible, agonizing-looking angles. And his hands were wrapped in what looked like his couch's slipcovers, held tight with zipties but already halfway soaked through.

He could still use his eyes, though. And when Athena entered the room, they looked over to her - and went wide as saucers.

"...you?"

Amazingly, the man actually seemed to calm down. His shoulders sagged; his tension drained; his eyes went almost back to normal. Clearly the sight of her didn't intimidate him at all, or at least not nearly as much as seeing Ryuji Yamazaki. Athena blew it off at first, stalking towards him slowly...but when he actually SMIRKED, she scowled and closed the distance fast.

"You don't look at me like that," she growled as Ryuji backed away. "You don't LOOK at me, you don't TALK to me, you don't do a damn thing till I tell you to. Or I'll feed you something a whole lot worse than your fingers."

THAT took the smile off his face.

"Now then," she said, smirking at herself for a bit. "I came here because I need to ask you a question. ...I think I already have my answer, but I'll ask it anyway."

She took a deep breath.

"...did you really say it?"

He stared at her blankly in response.

Athena smirked again, this time at Ryuji. "I guess you didn't tell him, huh?"

"Lady, I didn't even know what to tell," he chuckled.

"Fair enough." She turned back to her enemy. "...I can see you, now. I can see INSIDE you, ICHIRO. When you carved me up, when you took a piece of me away, you created a psychic bond between us that can never be broken. Now, if I concentrate - and you're strung out enough - I can see everything you're doing, through YOUR eyes and ears."

"Holy shit," Ichiro whispered. He was sure intimidated NOW.

"It didn't come through well at first, though. So I need to ask you something." She bent down, leveling her face with his. "When Ryuji captured you, I heard you say you were sorry. Sorry for what you'd done to me. ...did you really say that?"

"Yes! Yes‼" he burst out, nodding. "And I am! I'm really sorry‼ I - "

She slapped him as hard as she could.

"IT DOESN'T MATTER IF YOU'RE SORRY, you bastard‼" she screamed. "Do you even know what you've done to me!? You have RUINED MY LIFE! You've completely changed who I am, who I even WANT to be! I have scars that won't heal, teeth I can't even feel! What am I supposed to do with that, huh!? What am I supposed to do with THIS!?"

She stuck her nub of a pinky about an inch from his nose. Ichiro didn't respond, just staring at it in fear.

"And you're SORRY!?" shrieked the idol, tears streaming down her face. "You think that word's some sort of cure-all, some magic trick that makes everything better⁇ It doesn't‼ 'Sorry' doesn't bring back my PINKY, Ichiro! Your word isn't WORTH that! YOUR LIFE ISN'T WORTH IT, you son of a bitch‼ YOUR _LIFE_...‼"

And then she fell to her knees, bursting into violent sobs.

...she hated him seeing her like that. But thank the heavens, he didn't make fun of her; one way or another, it would have broken her. Instead he didn't really react at all, simply staring at her with wide eyes and a slack jaw. Ryuji, meanwhile, looked distinctly uncomfortable; he hadn't signed on for THIS.

After a moment, Athena collected herself. She wiped her eyes, sniffled, and rose to her feet. "Your life isn't worth mine, Ichiro," she finished. "Your life isn't even worth my pinky.

"...but I'm going to take it anyway."

Not looking away from him, she reached her hand towards her contractor.

"The knife, Ryuji."

_NOW we're talkin'_, Ryuji thought, grinning again. He didn't say it, though; he didn't want to spoil her moment. So he just did as he was told, walking up and placing the knife in her hand hilt-first. She nodded her thanks, then raised it in front of her, brandishing the weapon with all the aggression in her heart.

She didn't even know how to use the thing...but that didn't stop her. Her hand was shaky, her palms were sweaty...but that didn't stop her. Her eyes were tearing up again, blinding her...but that didn't stop her. Her enemy was begging and pleading...but that didn't stop her.

None of it stopped her.

Nothing could stop her.

But in the end, something did.

"...I can't do it."

Athena's hand, which had been brandishing the knife with all the aggression in her heart... slowly began to lower. Yamazaki could see the strength fading from her all at once: Physically and emotionally. Even her eyes couldn't stay level with those of her enemy, as her head began to lower... lower... until she looked to have nothing left.

"I... I can't. I'm not... s-strong enough..."

"Heh heh heh. Weak." the man of her infinite ire spat, chuckling even in the midst of everything. After all of this... he still had to have the last laugh. He still wanted to hurt her.

Her response, however, put all the paralyzing fear back in his face.

"Ryuji... take the knife."

Yamazaki obliged, reaching down... and gently prying her fingers apart to remove the knife from her defeated grasp. He stood up, eyeballing the man menacingly, as he prepared to strike...

"...No. Hold out your hand."

Confused, but not paid to ask questions, Ryuji lowered his hand. He held the knife back out to her, hilt-side first.

But Athena didn't take it. Instead she slid the knife back into his hand, closed his fingers around the hilt, and grasped his wrist tightly, clinging to it for support.

...and then she thrust Ryuji's hand forward, burying the knife in her enemy's neck.

His eyes went wide; his pupils narrowed into points. "Ryuji's" aim had been true: the blade had both severed the man's jugular and sunk into his trachea. He let out a choking gasp, drowning in his own blood even as it gushed out of him. He looked at Athena in shock; Ryuji looked at her with a savage glee.

As for Athena, her expression didn't change one bit.

After all, HER hands were clean.

The minutes that passed as they stood there in silence and stared had ticked by longer than expected. It was almost like a daze; one of those fleeting moments when a human being looks into the distance and loses oneself for a moment... but this one had lasted far longer. Neither had words to share. No thanks to be given, no witty banter or celebratory gloating about the destruction of Athena's enemies. They just stood there... and stared. His corpse grew colder by the minute, skin paling in real time, as his eyes remained open and saw nothing. His mouth was parted, where he had choked out the last few breaths binding his nasty soul to the world he had polluted.

Such a sight to Athena was revelation for her; an affirmation, a catharsis of who she was and what she COULD be. No longer was the war waged in her mind; the solution was clear, right in front of her.

She was Athena Asamiya. She once brought justice to the world, brought smiles to the faces of millions. She was a naive, caring, trusting fool, too long bound by the delusion that human beings possessed decency.

...But she would still fight to protect these people. She would still care for them, still strive to bring joy to the world. Because that's who she was. But when evil arose, threatened the safety of the population, threatened her loved ones, threatened HER... there was no limit to be spared for her wrath. The ones who died this week, the man laying before her with a knife in his neck, were a testament to that.

This was not revenge. This was justice.

Finally, the solace of the moment broke, as the man who carried out her will casually approached the corpse, knelt down, grabbed a tuft of his hair, and lifted him, so his blank eyes stared forward into hers.

"Well, you wanted the head. You got it."

**EPILOGUE**

The blood-soaked, organ-strewn curtain thus fell on this dark, treacherous, punishing week of Athena Asamiya, once a girl of purity and innocence, now hardened by the harsh reality of humanity and the world she lives in. As weeks progressed, she was forced to adjust back to a normal life, a life which revolved around maintaining the power of light and pursuing the career she had put on hold. The stench of death slowly faded away, the last lingering traces vanishing... until she breathed clean air once more. Her tainted hands, though washed several hundred times, bore the appearance of clean, but the psychological stains would take much longer to scrub away.

Ryuji Yamazaki took his payment and walked away, perhaps out of her life forever. She had many reasons to be thankful for the man, mainly so in that she felt her spirit calloused in the aftermath of what went down. The next time would probably be easier, and the next time after that. She doubted she would ever need a Ryuji Yamazaki again, should the occasion ever rear it's gruesome head a second time.

Some scars healed, some carried. Even her finger could be replaced via sophisticated prosthetic. It took enormous integrity to come out to Kensou and Master Chin about what happened: even MORE to forever live a lie in the face of the public, to protect both Yamazaki and herself from any potential prosecution. But she could bear it. She could bear the scars, bear the burden of secrecy, bear the weight of what she had done...

Because she was alive. That week had cut her, beaten her, ravaged her to the utter terminus of her heart beating. That week had changed her as a person, changed her once-bright perspective on the world she once had hope in. But most importantly... this week had shown her that she was willing to do more than she had ever thought possible, and continue living on as a normal girl even afterwards. Because she knew what was necessary.

She survived it all. She was stronger now, more enlightened, more educated in how she was to keep living on, keep moving forward. The evildoers could break her, scar her, even sever her... but she would take it all and give the utmost worst back.

This was who she was now. And she had a syndicate of beauty product-selling assholes... and Ryuji Yamazaki... to thank for it.

**THE END**


End file.
